Some Get The Gravy, Some

Van Gogh Was Impulsive.

We Are Stardust, We Are Golden And We've Got To Get Ourselves Back To The Garden.

He's Swept With The Broom Of Contempt And The Rooms Have An Empty Ring.

Elusive Dreams And Vague Desires Fanned To Fiery Needs By Deadly Deeds Of Falling Empires.

I Don't Like Being Too Looked Up At Or Too Looked Down On. I Prefer Meeting In The Middle To Being Worshipped Or Spat Out.