I See Colors Like You Hear Jet

Every Time My Brain Parks The Car Neatly In The Driveway, My Mouth Drives Through The Back Of The Garage.

It Was Called The Middle Ages, The Dark Ages. If Not For The Monks, Everything The World Had Ever Learned Would Have Been Lost. Well, We Live In A Similar Time, When We're Losing The Vast Majority Of What We Do And See And Learn. But It Doesn't Have To Be That Way.

The Voice Of The Nickly Reflection Of The Moon Was Not As Deep As You Might Expect. It Was A Singer’s Voice, Though, A Tenor, One That Loved Itself Without Reservation. “i Feel Time Like You Dream. Your Dreams Are Jumbled. You Can’t Remember The Order Of Your Dreams, And When You Recall Them, The Memories Bend. Faces Change. It’s All In Puddles And Ripples. That’s What Time Is For Me.

Good Artists Exist In What They Make, And Consequently Are Perfectly Uninteresting In What They Are.

Why Do You Want To Be On The Real World? Because I Want Everyone To Witness My Youth. Why? Isn't It Gorgeous?