Writing history, Is like making a skin of glass, For a drum—

You’re at the edge of the pillow, acting as the proverbial prune - like a butter dish in a room full of people…

I miss you. It almost feels stupid to say it.

The day you lose someone, Is not the most painful day. At least on that day…

Once, I had a dream, A huge Skylight! A destiny…

I’d practised Falun Gong for seven years. It stopped my spine disease’s jabbing spears…

Los humores recorrían las venas y arterias, impregnaban los tejidos de este protagonista, incluso su cerebro mismo.

/ When I crave cigarettes, I climb up to the very top of my lungs and scream at you in silence. You make me want to cut out my tongue

I have an undying voice keeping me up at night, it screams and demands I put up a fight…

We are the plugged-in backing band, in basement blocks we make them stand for hours…

One wish, Two wish, To Surrender, Obsessed illusions…

Rainbows, roses and butterflies make the world a wonder…

I wonder… Is it abnormal to have a deeply unconscious yearning for oblivion? To crave deep rest in the arms of the Mother Earth

If you are a leader at all. If you are a man who is not at fault, If you are a man at all…

Cars float like scooped potato skins though made of hard-pressed metal. The Leader, absent, steams his sins, conceals the boiling kettle…

Slowly, he unbuttoned me with his words, all the right things at the right time he said, felt his lingering touch…

You won’t be forgiven for the belt road you are living for flat miles that you have driven…

there was no burning involved this time, just melting, just spilling…

From the very second fresh air hits our lungs. Merely moments after birth, we are expected to be extraordinary…

When I've gone re-issue me in vinyl take two songs make it a double A side