"Call an optimist, I'm turning blue.."
I contradict Maynard James Keenan's lyric, using my post-laringitis 'voice' as a vehicle for such a cacophony. Pickaxe on a chalkboard as to a symphony. Me as to Mr. Keenan. The spring air, oh the spring air...and oh the cliche. Oh the disgusting, revolting cliche. Life seemed to be full of it lately; cliches
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