This never gets written about, it has no lyric. A kind of vehemence without an iris, it jitters through a buzzing fluorescent ether looking for its shame. That's enough convergence, now let's play. Vomit up all you haven't eaten. Cats and houses, once circled the park, and a tiny avenue of names. The back end of different shades of yellow, never before and never since, dried skin rings in E major, sustained just past breaking rank. Tall robots biting, that was ink. And this now, this now, snow swatter injured bell. The prettiest name for no.