I'll Take The Shooting. I'm Used To

Her Sanity Was A Fragile Thing, A Butterfly Cupped In Her Hands, That She Carried With Her Everywhere, Afraid Of What Would Happen If She Let It Go-or Got Careless And Crushed It.

Workers Of The World Awaken. Break Your Chains, Demand Your Rights. All The Wealth You Make Is Taken, By Exploiting Parasites. Shall You Kneel In Deep Submission From Your Cradle To Your Grave? Is The Height Of Your Ambition To Be A Good And Willing Slave?

The Soul May Not Be Destroyed. The Soul Goes On Forever. Like The Number Pi, It Is Without Cessation Or Conclusion. Like Pi It Is A Constant. Pi Is An Irrational Number, Incapable Of Being Made Into A Fraction, Impossible To Divide From Itself. So, Too, The Soul Is An Irrational, Indivisible Equation That Perfectly Expresses One Thing: You.

... People Made The Imaginary Real All The Time: Taking The Music They Heard In Their Head And Recording It, Seeing A House In Their Imagination And Building It. Fantasy Was Always Only A Reality Waiting To Be Switched On.

All The World Is Made Of Music. We Are All Strings On A Lyre. We Resonate. We Sing Together.