seven. seven. I'm keeping my commission to faith's transmission. Two speakers dream the same and skies turn red. Satellites flashing down orchard and delancey. I can't get laid cuz everyone is dead. Hey - gold connections. Analog soul waving in yr hair. Hey - hylozoic directions. She's talking blue streaks everywhere. Your spirit is time-reversed to your body. Stereographic mix-up field on field. It started growing up the day your body dies. Only apparently real to irreal. Hey - stereo stations. Perfect image kneel down. Hey - hypostatic information. Come on let's hear you turn it around.