WHY MUCK ABOUT?  WE'LL WALK YOU THROUGH IT.
AFT's MASTERFUL LYRICS -- HERE [LIKE YOU LIKE TO LIKE]

“The Yellow Machine” [full]

Of pearls, porcelain and platinum she’s made
Externally priceless; but inside it’s all jade.
A virtual love: just pictures, just text.
She says “you’re the First”… Sit down.  You’re just Next.

The Insect Goddess ensconced & detached
The Lady Premier has you crudely dispatched
Not born- she’s constructed; a Lean Figurine.
She’s the Empress of Empty – She’s the Yellow Machine

Thin blood, thinner background. Faux entrepreneur.
She cares not who’s looking… but- all eyes on her.
You’re not even a Secret, you’re merely a Cipher.
Like you, her vacation; though she swears she’s a Lifer.

The Insect Goddess devouring tomorrows
The Lady Premier that thrives on your sorrows
Hypnotic. Robotic. Mistress Mise En Scene
She’s the Empress of Empty – She’s the Yellow Machine

Well she was lithe, and blithe, and bright-eyed-- and she never cried.
She was wistful of our tryst;
Full of mysterious tidbits; delivering some delirious fits of Bliss;
A few near-misses; a few dead-on hits.
Little riffs and dips found us mired in shit
and a split; ending a bit…  exposed.
But who knows?  From the get-go it was a rodeo.
A sullied, silly ode to the winsome nights we rode
Right where the stars showed the mightiest and the brightest
And I feared I might explode.  Yet, in I dove.
Because our way of play was a breezy repartee –
Night or day; fun underslung… bunnies & birds
Kisses & words, kittens and… See- she and me…The Possibility. 
The easy freedom in between streams of things
That teemed with Meaning.  Or so it seemed.  Y’see –
She was The Most Beautiful Girl I Had Ever Seen.
My Queen; My Perfect Dream.
Well things just aren’t what they seem.

Bruised eyes; webbed red, stream-weep sans sleep
Mucking manic notes (upon notes) in his mind, just to keep.
No brainstorm’s dull thunder undercuts the mendacity.
Nor heartstrings unbind that unkind audacity.

The Insect Goddess devoid of compassion
The Lady Premier finds your tears out of fashion
Some hellish inverse of Ringo’s “Submarine”
‘Cause we all die… in a Yellow Machine

“Poor Little Stitch Girl”

Fresh out of the box, she got re-wired
Wrongly ripped & strongly-dripped
The quack who hacked - he got fired
"Un-Mother", "Not-Dad"; whoever they were
They already had one, they were done
so they never held her close... they held it against her

We can dream, but she's keen
what it means to come apart at the seams
She caught a bad rap as a bitch,
but the hitch is - she got rich
being a Poor Little Stitch Girl

Year upon year; re-sewn as she grew
Her whole life always under the knife
She survived each cut not-quite-good-as-new
Alone and cold, more bold with each suture
Unsure how to live 'right now';
Every cut from the Past bloodies the Future

We can dream, but she's keen
what it means to come apart at the seams
She caught a bad rap as a bitch,
but the hitch is - she got rich
being a Poor Little Stitch Girl


Her insides re-routed, detoured, re-patched.
Helped the parts, but not the heart
Never 'all there', but now; all detached.
She can't cut loose, see - that's just not her thing
Understand: no one planned
to live a Life held together by string.

We can dream, but she's keen
what it means to come apart at the seams
She caught a bad rap as a bitch,
but the hitch is - she got rich
being a Poor Little Stitch Girl