Teksty:
David Thomas Broughton

: long for another night another hole in my kite and i'm going to fall from the sky pray for a safe crossing all this turning, all this tossing climb

: tapping and tisking in the corner, slowly cooking in the softness, to have glued my hand in place, a fire burns in my guts and my face screws up in

: how much love can a boy contain in here? how many contradictions can a girl posess up there? these questions are too ambiguous, try to narrow down