and its word on the street, all backlash and social elitist bullshit with words doubled over and ripping into everything and everybody;
in the comfort of your home, sitting at the kitchen bench having a pale or two or a sparkling or eight and swaying to folk punk like the times when we used to, when the weather would let us, and with the appearance of the kid doing tafe i liked to think what a genuine three boys i was sitting with, + how trivial everything but then was. and oh, humour i love you so. gandhi we hope you get better, and if not what was it? brew not bombs for fundraising to get you a vet, or emergency cash to bail those shifty cunts out of jail.