What the hell is this? You said, "It's art, just fuckin' mirror it." Where did we go wrong? If not here, where do we belong? In a shot of sun off an airplane far above her? In the glint of the foot-burnished manhole cover? In a light, a sign of one kind or another? In the gleaming eye of a fighter or a lover?
Sitting here at the Horton's, so you know this is important. If not here, then where? If not now then when? When a feather's an immovable force? When the stampede's an obstacle course? When Ancient Train has hit Ol' Transient Horse? When we're a Vancouver divorce?
Now that we've hammered the last spike and we've punched the railroad through, thought there'd be more to say thought there'd be more to do. I love your paintings-don't take your colors away. I've grown more fearful of them every day. Swimming up their dark rivers to discover your source, a source of strange and unrequited remorse. And I found the end of the world, of course, but it's not the end of the world, of course. It's just a Vancouver divorce. It's just a Vancouver divorce.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
