The Spinaloga Spine

Rejoice Motherfuckers. Your freedom is at hand. What's that? You wonder no more homespun, it is whatever you want it to be, just like having a soul or every religion, those homer fantasies about winning the "Big Game"; which is as apt an analogy as you'll find in this here life, Big Money; oh, I'm sorry, I thought that was your name. I hope you'll forgive me for checking out the outs, but there are no answers to all those babies questions, none worth their weight anyway. Hug 'em up and cry pre, they'll break your heart soon enough, but you will never not love them enough not to be the coat for their mud puddles in the skint knee street, teen gloaming on the way, the waiting up for waiting ups sake, learning to let go of the you in them so they can be fly, and be free.