i never commit, i just keep moving. run and hide . run and hide. theres no way to begin my life in this way. like the rolling stone. i never gather moss. but who the fuck wants to be covered in moss? and in this famous anology what the hell is moss supposed to represent? stuff? stuff that clings to us? and eventually suffocates us. covering us over, until there is no part of you left to see. just stuff covering you/ superficial stuff. where are you? buried in a matt of stuff. fluffy green moist stuff/. fuck that. lob me down the hill like the lump of cheese that a thousand people chase and risk breaking their limbs trying to catch. i am the rolling cheese! fuck moss.