a wind carries your scent to those who will find you out
a storm forces you down to seek shelter from the rain
your trail leads to a mine of cyanide and gold
a free falling darkness leads you to yourself
i am low to the ground again
i have the future bearing on down
i run with the starlight to the end
the tail...
Read More
Cabaret Voltaire "Attic Tapes", Boones Farm booze, Steel Reserve Malt Liquor, Dramamine, Hashish, and a couple rabid yaks....that will wash away the blues.
I HATE THE FUCKING EAGLES, MAN