She Was Made Of Flesh

All The Lousy Little Poets Coming Around Trying To Sound Like Charles Manson.

In Montreal Spring Is Like An Autopsy. Everyone Wants To See The Inside Of The Frozen Mammoth. Girls Rip Off Their Sleeves And The Flesh Is Sweet And White, Like Wood Under Green Bark. From The Streets A Sexual Manifesto Rises Like An Inflating Tire, “the Winter Has Not Killed Us Again!

Music Is The Emotional Life Of The Most People.

Growing Old Becomes Clear To You At A Certain Point. I Think It's After The Age Of 70 You Realize - You Begin To Actually Be Convinced - You're Growing Older.

I Will Not Be Held Like A Drunkard / Under The Cold Tap Of Facts