Food for thought and the subconscious:
Go home it’s over and now go with it . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . you’re over it.
Like the sighs you’ve had on corners
Tipping on the borders
Of so many love lives
You’re at a crossroads
A duel with a demon
And you’ve spat in his face
You found his vulnerable genitalia
Pulled and ripped clean off
You make him swallow them whole
Afton might finally be washed out to sea . . .
Well, maybe stuck on a peninsula
With sharp rocks in between me
And his naked feet.
Nick Drake -- "Which Will"
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