The robots are our friends. But the relationship can get a bit monotonous at times. And violent.

Winter was coming, and I was going to meet a friend. He wanted to talk about the finer things in life, meaning art and politics and plans; I wanted to talk about the finer things in life, meaning girls.

Educated clowns need no monkey suits to entertain the crowds.

I was trying to save the life of a potted herb. She had other ideas.

There was once a girl, but that was long ago. A letter to a past love, recorded in one take with four microphones.

Spite, redemption, electric piano and a found mandolin.

The first in a series of exciting Damn Poets outtakes, “Pilot” is one song that didn’t make the album but will make the internets.