Watching all those harps on the conveyor belt, we now know how to cut the tightrope in half looking for new sounds. Let's gather in a circle and watch the new sounds fall up the soil and break of the sun's tumultuous decency into mangoes and peaches, patterns and taciturn, I'm sometimes so taciturn as I eat orange fruit in the morning, revolution is the only thing. You punch me in the heart again, I can see you're trying to learn me like algebra or zebra, and bright red flowers bloom of us, all mine, what I can see
