you And the crow flies. Here be monsters aboard an old drumpy, summer heat swell and bang a summer drum, sing all the songs of what was and what will be the sublime decay of time and the unknowns to come. Waking in the night to follow the stars, plotting back to Venus or maybe back to Mars, maybe to fall off the known world, be we at our perimeter rightly that jagged coasts subjective reality or maybe to hold fast and not go lightly unaware with subdued neutrality. Bang bang a summer drum, here be monsters, summer heat and dream aboard an old drumpy.