There’s a look on her face, in the light. By generalizing, we can seem to prove anything while proving nothing. Being young is having favorites. I won’t forgive bad writing. The underground ground out tunes of a different cloth, taking lyrics into the dark cynicism of the Beats, Burroughs translated into musical media. Strike dear mistress and cure his heart. Lyrics finding a home deep within delights and fights, wrestling holds.
Lord Malinov, Song of Songs