Add a ludicrously flailing, spastic lead vocalist and you've pretty much hit on Last Turion's recipe for disaster. Neo-prog doesn't get much worse. Walter W. Daniel Esq. Gary Lund. Pedro Bird. Eduardo Nunes.

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In the nervous light Interview at the Ruins Hide the petals underneath that bedroom floorboard and they will wither without fail or success. Put the people in the hollow box they crafted, bolt the doors and watch them perish. Its a cautious descent, so polite and pensive at first. But the only truth is change, have patience every hundredth year, a single breath and then its over Even if only for a minute for a minute its over. Even if only for a minute.

So brave in the face of all those roots that ruin, to stand so tall when in fact in ruins. To face that corner of the box and dive in, just the sound alone of its humble breath. A murmur from the ruins echoes softly as the roots undo, and the branch becomes Non Objective Portrait of Karma Ignorance is bliss no wise woman's failed to mention and surely some koan suggests 'neglect leads to perfection' but the more I turn my face from the crowd the more I feel my backs' increasingly compelled for the sake of escape, to turn a knife on itself, a knife of relief, from all the petty insight and finally I'll sleep, I'll sleep through the night.

Bored as fuck on this street corner-cover. This portrait of karma, crafted in accident text book seduction, minus the text in the language of ghosts and so we ran, like the wolves were biting, the inhibitions of their prey kept them from screaming "scratch my back and I will stab you in yours" so I chose to live this life alone, without the teeth marks but I predict, I'll have to sink my fangs in someone else's heart to heal my own.

The heat for heat's sake, on this Barnard block of Congress deductively speaking, the polar of progress well maybe I put too much faith in the accident entranced, we danced toward the ripest display of escape let the starving ghosts feats, from this flesh, from these bones, let them all feast.

In this chess game of language, forced to sit so I play all alone, watch the bathos drift forth like the petals from a wild crafted rose. Kill The Switch Mouth the words to deny, deny the symptoms, as 'oh yeah I'm doing fine', as I've found a most endearing psychosis.

Somewhere out there there's a thrill I swear. Desperate as I am I just can't strip bare and bleed the only purity I've known. But I lay with reason. Found logic conceived in a walk with skin. I lay with reason producing these monsters. Under painted catcalls as in temptation. Waterfalls in a cool grey, and the struggle is colored grey this day.

The caw of crows fills up the picture plane. Our picture plane is veiled in central neutral grey. Absinthe to slight the pain. This world's this worst case color scheme. Streaks of oil stain, stained the road he crawled on homeward.

Oh yeah, oh yeah he killed the switch with some unwieldy gauge, absence and light remain. I lay with reason found logic and reap in a walk with sin. El sueno razon produce monstrous. When does this dream end? Now I've missed another whole season, I've missed the fall, clearly its fallen on this land as fields once green are ochre now. The Essential Billy Joel. Hoodie SZN. Their Greatest Hits Chapter I: Snake Oil.

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