"Dio è masochista: e ci fece a sua immagine e somiglianza".
Millecinquecento giorni di solitudine e angoscia, questo il consuntivo di un anno non ancora terminato. Mi risuona nelle orecchie "Not too amused", quattro minuti e diciannove secondi di perfezione:

What was that you just said?
That didn't make any sense to me
It's not the way I see it, man
I'm almost tired of listening to you
Why do you tie me up with words?
The way your eye shifts makes me wanna go
Black-jawed living room couch professor
When will you be through with me? I'd like to know
Everywhere I go I feel it
But I won't talk, I won't get stuck with you
Everyone's so lonely I dig it
But I'm afraid I can't share this with you
So don't make me your captive
I don't feel like talking your shit
I nod my broken head
I'm not too amused with humans

Conservo le parole per il giorno in cui le mie mani smetteranno di tremare.