Flat Notes in Reason

It's middle past mid week. The clothes are on the line. The cat's hung out to dry. I can't really say there's much of a way past the man on the right except for to go left. Left's not what it used to be though, all crampled and jabberecized as we find it. Not causal? I'll show you knot causal. Take the side lain beef and give it a whirl. Cause you can't have it all. And it all can't have you. So remember the second part and sleep through the first. Sometimes you just gots to eat. Sometimes you is Big Time. Then when all that is in the world and holy to your moly, you up and find that pink is not your color and fur is not your first choice in footwear. A word? I believe we've had enough. ...but say on. And on. Wilst we... you know what? The bones be achin' for burning. Of course, I guess you could just take a ride in an MRI or check your self into some kind of solarium or something, but I don't think now is really the time. Let me check.

Nope.

H room? What the jazz is that? And how do I get there? And to what is this fork for? Can it be colored pink? Oh I wonder. As I wander. Yet don't stop to think as you do so. You'ven't the time. That's our lot. Number 357. Just off the docks and into hobbles and drawers of kids from here to San Juan himself. So grab yourself a horsey, strap in the lunch and prepare yourself for a ride through the seventh last grimace of Grommet. You know very well he'll be waiting for you in his wrong trousers. ...or at very least he ought to be. Which in course I too... must away.