The Rock Star Is Dying. And It's

You Searched Through All My Poets, From Sappho Through To Auden, I Saw The Book Fall From Your Hands, As You Slowly Died Of Boredom.

I Don't Have Any Authority To Talk About The Domestic Policies Of America. But As An Outsider, I Am Mystified By The Fact That You Are Encouraged To Buy A Gun, But If You Use It For The Purpose That It Is Expressly Designed For, You Get The Death Penalty. That Aspect Of America Is Kind Of Mystifying.

In The Hysterical Technocracy Of Modern Music, Sorrow Is Sent To The Back Of The Class Where It Sits, Pissing Its Pants In Mortal Terror.

The Love Song Must Be Born Into The Realm Of The Irrational, Absurd, The Distracted, The Melancholic, The Obsessive, The Insane For The Love Song Is The Noise Of Love Itself And Love Is, Of Course, A Form Of Madness.

Your Limitations Make You The Wonderful Disaster You Most Probably Are.