gingatao

something

given to you which will never be yours, wandering around looking at yourselves in various dazes, now is the time to reunite common cultures, soon the privileges into which you were born will no longer exist, that is the way of civilizations, of humans, now is the time to find common myths which will require you to exercise your gift in some cause not your own says F. slamming his glass down but i hold the right hand high, he said, and the bastards ignored me again,

but i hold the right hand together as the piano has been drinking not me, doffs his hat, (play an old folk tune, Ry Cooder style, that crossroads song Exu),

‘trane rattles round bend
pick a card any card,
them days are done, son, long gone
now it’s all plastic Paris and painted Helen,
where is she who shot a man in Reno
he sang soon you will see
the cattleyards of Roma