Hum, hum, swing my fine brother swing.

Dance my fine sister upon plate glass marking the world’s

ambition.

Grasp, wrench up, or sideways if it please, if it please.

Who is your world? Where does he lie? Where does he abide on a cold Saturday night after a few to few
at the poor bar? At the cars side, there. There we go.

Music blazes to carve my arrogance out of my ignorance, they are linked, more, more, more intrinsically
than the religion I hold for the others of this plan.

However that makes me wrong I care not, for, for, for I can grasp, swing with wrench arms up into the
makings of my own fairytale. Music, harmony, that’s ambitious from one whip, raped my lung full of
balance: throwing me into the deep, casting me off into the nets. Denying my water logged brain its
future.

Come with me or die with my, Alice found a way to escape the mundane life, and finds trials that would
make a practitioner of this lonely world jealous if he wasn’t too busy being tied up by his egregious
lacklustre pose.

Ah you can’t make sense of imagination upon written page, of written world, of written transcendent
meaning, NO!

Fake not, this is no bachelor pad of tyrannical, were?

To true mother fucker, to true.

For we didn’t hear that, of his wrong medium the butterflies through a partial magnificence, an ether of
ratios colour, homage life, well done.

Well fucking done.

I like to pretend to see words, billions of atomic navigators, changing the future through a sonorous
caress.