Good Morning El Greco

How're me beasties? Sour Times by Portishead on loop? Poor babies. Let me make it all better. First we stare you to sleep, then pull your heels to stretch your minute of dream into thirty. Cold spoon eyes, cat and all, I never trusted the double vertical slit, only the one;
and one plus. The violence is breaking all, but only 1 out of 50 Tyrannosaurus rex reached maturity, so maybe the Romans were right to worship it like we do while saying we don't, and we're glass enough. I'd rather be ice in the circle, waiting to ride the sky again, for my time to fall, for my evaporation. If you strangle those you're chained to, don't complain about the pain of deadweight and drag.