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She was part of an inner circle. Daughters of The Motherland. Like a ship lit up at sea, with scars where its talons used to be... I was a slow learner, I moved in flourishes. I was a late-bloomer, I moved in flourishes. Last man on the scene... Fresh face on a dying scene... 100th of a 'wet, black bough'... I was Clytæmnestra on a good day, dispensing wisdom to the uninitiated... The initiates brought out in tumbrils shat out by the dawn... Shat out by the dawn... And, like a woman, I was kept as the wealthy American Underground wept at the sight of Rhode Island sinking into the sea. And the sky still reigned supreme over the land as The Music Lovers sat cross-legged in the sand and in Time and in Space, and (in other words) in a band who, much like churchgoers, fuck themselves... up... From Letras Mania