All my energy, I want to pour it out and tear these pages apart with my lyrics. I don't know how else to tell you the ways we will make this different. Stemming from my anger, I arrive with love, a love of this race so strong. I am the Muhcoy, and I have won.

Your wayward thoughts differ none from mine. Your plagues, yes I own them too. So does he and the other one. I am a vagabond akin to the penthouse inhabitant and the boxed soul on eighth avenue. And no, leave the politics to George. I care not.

I'll play this familiar tune until the man and his box understand. I will listen to it through the remaining pages. So listen good. Listen well. Listen thorough. Listen through the blood. Listen to the poppies. And hear.

I awoke in a "black out". Destined to drink again, my hands knew the routine. My knowledge of rote, my rot, they pulled my fingers and limbs to that trash can. The brews, half empty from the previous evening, I set them on my desk and sighed. Fishing for butts, I found the bounty leaving me with ale of what I thought the purest. Fully knowing it would get no better, I downed those trash laden beers, for no beer was the wrong beer.