Ira Gershwin, Shame On Him. I Mean,

Elusive Dreams And Vague Desires Fanned To Fiery Needs By Deadly Deeds Of Falling Empires.

You Feed It All Your Woes, The Ghostly Garden Grows.

I Met A Redneck On A Grecian Isle Who Did The Goat Dance Very Well.

There Was This Mountain Village In Russia Where My Music Was Getting In On Some German Radio Station. I Remember This Because Music Used To Get Up To Saskatchewan From Texas. Late At Night After The Local Station Closed Down.

I See Music As Fluid Architecture.