when i was a little boy,ni threw away my action toysnwhile i became obsessednwith operationnwith hearts and minds and certain glands,nyou learn to keep a steady hand, and thus began a morbid fascinationnwith sweetbreadsni could taste what you were thinkingnooh, sweetbreadsnthat's the taste of neuronsnblinkingnndo you wonder where the self resides?nis it in your head, or between your sides?nand who's gonnandecide it's true location?ncos it's anquestion for the centuries,nfrom communion to mad cow diseasenbut is it worthy of a songnor life's location?nnoh, and the sweetest sweetbreadnof them allnwithin the kingdom of our fall [??]ncall of thoughts [??], and many foreign nationsnnthey call them sweetbreadsni could taste what you were thinkingnooh, sweetbreadsnthat's the taste of neuronsnblinkingnndoes the thought of bile that's red and black,nthe thought of tongues that taste you back,nfill you with a nauseous elation?nwhere a simple trip to the grocery storencould fill you with an abject whorencan you taste the miserynof those crustaceans?nnoh, and the sweetest sweetbread of them allnwithin the kingdom of our fall [??]nand it shoulda caused somensightly machinationsnnthey call them sweetbreadsni could taste what you were thinkingnooh, sweetbreadsnthat's the tase of neurons blinkingnoh, i could taste what you were thinkingnoh, give me your thoughts aboutnsweetbreads