Sting reckons he can get it up. The last time I saw Dylan he had resorted to talking the lyrics a la Capt Kirk. The musical equivalent of having to have a wank in the corner. Mind you, Tempest is up there. ... Sorry, your point? Akenaton thinks I am a male version of Harriet Harman and you think errr. . Buggered if I know. The good professor is confused too, but being a greyhound that isn't difficult. Clever songs describe ideals nobody can achieve and vices that don't describe a whole person.
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