I lifted up the storm drain and pushed my hands into the dirtnthere’s a secret here hidden somewherenand the words repeated psalm-like cause that’s my birthright.nnI wondered if I could get low enough to the ground with my headphones on and the fire ants biting at my hands…nndon’t worry there’s a master plannnI was bitten by a sour frame of mind that daynand I didn’t mean to treat you in a hurtful waynnbut my dreams had all expired and my thoughts were staticnnI was looking at my future in a box in the atticnnwill you please come see me, we could form a new bandndoes that sound like a reacouring bad luck handnnI’m a microphonenI’m a tambourinenI’m a record sleevenI’m a melatronnI’m your mannnI shall wear the impossible dream in a tattoo on my arm for my friends to seento remind me when my focus turns from love to depressionnand I’ll pray to George Harrison’s reincarnationnnIt was After The Gold Rush spinning in my heartnand I thought we could invent a supernatural artnnbut the band went down in a fiery zeppelinnand I smashed my guitar at the gates of heavennnand the well in the Murakami book went drynMr Wind Up Bird can you tell me whynnSo I looked for the answer in Norwegian Woodnand the million little pieces of my childhoodnnthe billion little pieces of my childhood.nnI’m a perfect rhymenI’m a drum machinenI’m a radionI’m a symphonynI’m your man