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.
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