The Doves' mantras of desolation are even trippier than the first couple Cranes records (though maybe not as lysergic as prime Swans or Ravens), […]
This gorgeous agglomeration is centifidous in construction, and is exhibited in seven cyclostomous pavilions, each decked with bombycinous banners.
Golf is supposed to be a gentleman's game, but I curse everyone and his mother out there. I have to win.
Meantime your filthy foreigner will stare, / And mutter to himself.
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