Sadly, an ego scud has blown up Corgan's muse, distributing the gore between the territories of 4AD, Windham Hill, Cleopatra, and Elementree. So I'm operating on the premise that I hear the voice of God. Then, four more minutes of underwater gongs and seagull guitars bring you back down from the laughter. The entire affair makes Tori Amos sound like Raffi. Pick up where my thoughts left off.
Radio is a commercial-bloated joke.
Oh, the Smashing Pumpkins.