You're A Musician: You Play. That's What

I Would Like To Live To A Ripe Old Age And Raise Watermelons In Wyoming.

Over What Guilty Spirit To Not Hear The Beating, To Not Hear The Beating, But Only Tears Of Perfect Moan, Only Tears Of Perfect Moan.

Families That Live Out In The Suburbs Often Make Each Other Cry.

It Always Bothers Me To See People Writing Rip When A Person Dies. It Just Feels So Insincere And Like A Cop Out. To Me, Rip Is The Microwave Dinner Of Posthumous Honours.

I Don't Like Nostalgia Unless It's Mine.