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By Million Dead, a lone voice crying in the wilderness:
make the straight way
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By Million Dead, It's time to celebrate, to come out and play –
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By Million Dead, on leaving school immersed in philanthropic notions (of a kind
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By Million Dead, if every child chased dreams of societal reorganization in place
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By Million Dead, i harbour secret imaginings of social masochism and retribution. with
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By Million Dead, three / four decades bored... oh me oh my i
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By Million Dead, it's all very well, knowing how to write and understanding
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By Million Dead, it's tragic to concede geothermals, to take the deus from
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By Million Dead, it's just a song, just another generic mid-paced foot-tapper, just
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By Million Dead, oh my god i think i'm cuba, or possibly tanzania.
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By Million Dead, well you can tell by the way i move my
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By Million Dead, hey! little mohammed, where's your riot gear? did you forget
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By Million Dead, why call it an artform? it's lacquered kareoke with a
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By Million Dead, if i can't feel (on a given day) the way
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By Million Dead, it starts with a call, a call from his mother.
sophia
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By Million Dead, it starts with a call, a call from his mother.
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By Million Dead, would someone please speak, this silence is as golden as
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By Million Dead, well i've been toning up my back for a stint
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By Million Dead, ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats, put on your
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By Million Dead, i long for the day when concrete becomes flammable. a
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By Million Dead, the footnote swallows the page. today new york kind of
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By Million Dead, the came from the east,
they brought horses to our cultivated
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By Million Dead, it was the strangest thing today - i saw new
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By Million Dead, i have never taken for granted the science behind sound.
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By Million Dead, so quiet, i can hear that the refrigerator is on,
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By Million Dead, I am the small town linesman
And you'll find me out
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By Million Dead, The maternity ward
Where I was born
Was knocked down in the
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By Million Dead, If every child chased dreams of societal reorganization in place
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By Million Dead, Credit cards, sealed lifts and covert sanitation, processed meat and
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By Million Dead, "You" – another tired second-person address,
words written hastily and