I squashed the insect, cause it excites my loathing. I feel something of a fear, through my responsibility for this violent end of a life. I don't know what to see, what I have caused. I turn my face aside, as I'm doing it. Where is, Lester Lothar? Lester Lothar! The break of the rocks. Cannot believe, we're part of the martyr of death. The tension between the beginning and the end, that gives me energy and motion. Energy and motion. Energy and motion. I follow the direction, and guess. The insect is a strange world, without my sympathy, or my dislike. It's a bond, with which I can hardly inter-inter-inter-inter-integrate. Integrate. Integrate. Integrate. Integrate. I think in Little Green, UK. I think in shiny car paint, reflection. I think in unequal division. I think in 7,000 bullets per minute. I think in infrared. I think in radar. I think in universe. I think in radio waves. I think I'm stuck here, in the desert. I think in stretching scales on my head. I think in orthostrator. I think in asphalt rings. I think in street medals. I think in electricity. This must have been made during my life. I recognise the cause. There's rhymes in the music A girl has a miniskirt, a boy wears jeans I must have been somewhere in this world when this was made