Experimental, impressionistic sub-paragraph tumblin' (think obstsalat)



The wind blows rain into my face
The sun glows at the end of the highway
Child of the moon, rub your rainy eyes
Oh, child of the moon
Give me a wide-awake crescent-shaped smile
— Rolling Stones, Child Of The Moon

Is this just another day, in this God forgotten place?
First comes love, then comes pain. Let the games begin,
Questions rise and answers fall, insurmountable.
— Pearl Jam, Love Boat Captain