Traveling to the far and distant lands of my birthplace to meet people I dont know, but kind of know.... To obsesce about little round pieces of wood that haunt me, and cause me to neglect other aspects of my life which, in reality are far more important. I will try to compose myslf around all of these little pieces of round wood, but just as the wood drives bass and blues crazy to the point of death, I might loose the grasps of reality and begin mumbling "pikie" or "my precious"... If this happens just put a plug in my shirt pocket and I should be o.k. for the time being.
Threaded Mode