Matter

It doesn't matter what you do, it only matters what you say you've done and what you're going to do.
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Adieu l'Emile I liked you
Adieu l'Émile I liked you you know
We sang the same wines
We sang the same girls
We sang the same sorrows
Adieu l'Emile I die
It's hard to die in spring you know
But I'm going with the flowers of peace in the soul
Because since you're good as white bread
I know you take care of my wife
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
I want to have a hell
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
When you put me in the hole

Adieu Curé I liked you
Goodbye Father you know I liked you
It was not the same side
It was not the same way
But we tried the same port
Goodbye Father I die
Is hard to die in spring you know
But I go to the flowers of peace in the soul
Because since you were his confidant
I know that you'll take care of my wife
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
I want to have a hell
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
When you put me in the hole

Farewell Anthony I didn't like you much
Farewell Anthony I didn't like you, you know
I'm dying to die today
While thou art alive
And even stronger than boredom
Adieu l'Antoine I die
It's hard to die in spring you know
But I'm going with the flowers of peace in the soul
Because since you were her lover
I know that you'll take care of my wife
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
I want to have a hell
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
When you put me into the hole

Farewell my wife, I liked you
Farewell my wife, I liked you you know
But I take the train for God
I take the train that is before yours
But it takes all we can train
Farewell my wife I'm dying
It's hard to die in spring you know
But I'm going with my eyes closed flowers my wife
Because I've seen that often closed
I know that you'll take care of my soul
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
I want to have a hell
I want you to laugh
I want you to dance
When you put me in the hole

It is, isn't it?

Like little kids trying to explain the phenomenon of let's say, Propagation of Light or Monetary policy of a certain nation or let's say, the musical composition of Bach, they write news.

They whine about losing. They whine about evils of a corporation like there was no tomorrow.

A goal that was reached or not. A whistle that blew even before the goal was "reached".
That doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that you-don't-know-what-the-fuck-you-are-talking-about.

Half can't even answer a question about an unjustified entry into the battle arena; but all can relate to and condemn a neutral judge for lashing out apparently.

Because the world is against you, that's all it matters in your tiny prism. In your limbic-fucking brain. The limbic self lives on strong.

It's getting old.

complicated

Let's not complicate our relationship by trying to communicate with each other.
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