bicep raze "birds fly and fill the summer skies," a sullen man sings. "and i surrender." the trumpet solo is a distant wail when it should be loud enough to wake the wavering world. you hear none of this. the ink burned into your bicep is a tribute to your father: a sword stabbing a still-beating heart. the only blood on the blade i carry is my own. 250709 what's it to you? who go blather from