"Really don't mind if you sit this one out. My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT. I may make you feel but I can't make you think. Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink. So you ride yourselves over the fields and you make all your animal deals and your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick. And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction the moral melee. The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers the newfangled way. But your new shoes are worn at the heels and your suntan does rapidly peel and your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick. And the love that I feel is so far away: I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you shake your head and say it's a shame."
Ian Anderson, "thick as a brick."
Yeah, it's a damn shame.
Look forewords to those credit card bills come January. At least the lights and whatnot are pretty, and the change dropped into a
salvation army pot mitigates some guilt. Ah, well, new things, ( "Opium") coming along slowly but well.
Work to live, live to work.