How does it feel like to be yelled at in Romanian for 2/3/12 hours
at the 12-hour Romanian-yelling Festival?
I find this limit, this kind mind, this I-blind spirit.
I will drink high-fi liquids in right-wing bikinis. I find it striking – isn’t it?
Remember September eleven. Remember September eleven. This is not a song about politics.
It’s just a fucking lipogram.
With all of you, with all of you x2. This is not a song about sex. It’s just the shorter phrase I could find that employs all vowels. Except for the one you ignored once before.
Not slow, no solo on Mojo’s top mottos.
Robot’s blood, so-so, don’t know, no no.