but I've a head cold and I'm killing time in the lab and I'm going to try to remember an old poem of mine I used to open shows with.
Why? well, maybe I'm bored. (on cold medicine, subtlety is the name of the game)
I swear I saw a skulking shadow systematic, slow
glowing green by grecian grocery gleaming great as geats grow.
Known to numb the noble neophyte now next to no one's net
and I bet because blue boy brought new-bought beer by she's beset.
Jet plane journey - jump to juxtapose Juliana's just July
flying fearful fast, full-forward, feast on fading fifteen fries -
sighing silently sans subterfuge should something seem to say,
weighing word to word with wonder, 'what would weave her wood to clay?'
so that's that.
MUSIC: hum: suicide machines
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