fox raze two men choke on the same two syllables until they shed their meaning. locked in combat with the opposite of what they are. white words hugged by parentheses tell you what isn't necessary. "you don't need god in your house," the scriptwriter assures you. the man with the deeper, more laconic voice rifles through a list of his own unwanted items. he rhymes "bride" with "pride", dipping down to the bottom of his range. brushed drums fracture common time. and all the while, the largest of the true foxes stands in the snow, burrowing into the mud of your mind with his almond eyes. 250119 what's it to you? who go blather from