Stay in the Home You Love.
For your perusal: the yowls of ghosts of these gin-drunk sailors caroming round the wrecked carcasses of those rotten and rusted hulks that bore them once. And here a reveille to corral them, in the glitter of rain on third degree burns. The gathered and violent potential of so many loose lips. So don’t let’s talk about it.
Strike The Last Flare. We’ll never get out of here.