Stress Lies Repression Devilish
A confused young man, in love, surrounded by LadsSo I tried to write you a love song, but it sounded like vomit, so I quickly and dully put any prospect of even private self-expression into the dustbin with all my other shite ideas, those piles and piles of scrunched up balls of paper building up into mountains, soon to unleash avalanches, one in every room of my flat, like Jim Carrey in The Mask the morning after he robs the bank, the detective knocking on the door as...