What is left to say?
Just a little party, a few friends. We won't even get drunk.
Some tunnel in Switzerland or something.
Seven Years later
Everything that could happen, will happen.
Tsunamis are not that uncommon
You weren't exactly ill but you weren't well
In the distance, a city
It was then a sparrow flew in, well a bird
So I woke up, wired-in, tubed-up to this guy
Send me flowers, like I give a fuck.
Mr & Mrs Buck-Too and their son, James
Either the best sleep ever, or something else
Hemlock and Other Cures
No strange marks, I didn't even see fever, but
In some ways it could be brilliant
Life was not so funny then, or now
See this face? That's a map of where not to go.
This was a story, kind of, the ending is happy, kind-of.