fitter, happier, more productive...
radiohead
radiohead
and you're there. flying while the water slowly rises over your head. you laugh, you consider...the green garb she wore, his starched white shirt on the floor.
and it's all so sterile as a new cul-de-sac complex. modern bare walls and windows, tan wall to wall carpet, and no obscene smells.
but all you want is red, and dogbites, flies, and meat off the bone, you want to brood, the melancholy, a messier sky without the neon, the quiet moon watching you from a distance considering the stars...