Blues, jazz, punk, rock, all; all music, all music.
Hey jukebox you have gone insane,
I didn’t oriented myself to your trap.
All there was outside this screaming cage, was a dead bird;
Well half dead, dripping feathers…grey, a killing of something natural.
He needs you more than me.
I have my inflammation, my puking inertia for humanity.
Play something…play something inhuman for him, I won’t stop you this time,
He should die in style.
I want buzz around this neighborhood, flying bottles and living arm wrestlings…
Birds and flying on my dreams.