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. 

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