The bird that flies now, pays later, through the nose of ambidextrous apathy. Necrophiles...

Maxwell H. Brock:

The bird that flies now, pays later, through the nose of ambidextrous apathy. Necrophiles may dance upon the placemats in an orgy of togetherness. The highway of life cuts sharply through the shady ghettos and the ivy covered tombs. And laughter rings from every time capsule in the star spangled firmament. And in the deep freeze, it is the children's hour. And know one knows that Duncan is murdered. And know one knows that Walter Paisley is born! Duncan knows. Tuesday's sunrise knows. Alley cats and garbage cans and steaming pavements and you and I and the nude descending a staircase and all such things with souls - we know that Walter Paisley's on!