I hope Bill likes my review "take" in six stanzas poetically weaving the 96 song track s! whew! i hope to afford it soon. Here it is:
Are you listening to my private cosmos, I dream, of giant telescopes when lightning strikes the steeple. "Hang this moment on a sigh," they tell you this. They tell you that "driving through England light rain - set your dials for dreaming!" Kingdom of the sky, the Kirkella Bells are living on the moon tonight. The dusk before the dark, glittering figures a gnostic lullaby, and paint days of wonder... picture perfect the painter/music artist!
Thunder. Perfect mind with all the will in the world, the crystal gazing room allows no sleep for the alchemist nor the astronomer of the heart on an ocean of dreams. This land is haunted, Friday always in the future like mists of time in the chapel of her sparkles where the trees are full of whistling birds dreaming of another world. Time's tide - the dreams that escape me - your secret sign under fading star forever ago.
I watch the world through my window another rainy day; when the wind blows all away, time stops right here. I was speaking with Orson Welles when the techno punk gets rhythm, merry and bright where old brown town lanterns are lighting the night - the universe is fast asleep. seven keys to this city travels Osram Diadem, Fantistico and The Paradox Machine in the 21st century.
Silver sparks and coloured stars, helios in memory land gazing through golden windows. The navigator, an acre of sunshine, the light in the mirror the bone beneath the skin and ghosts dance in ghostland. The memory museum, room one orates silver stars will shine when ghost trains travel on phantom tracks I recall the jets at dawn. There's a star somewhere, the spectral waltz of venus, my private cosmos, part two - curiosity's domain!
A dip in the spark jar... this clockwork world, when we were beautiful hi-tone Saturday in a mechanical city, one dreamlike world coasting some days orange, some days blue in the land of nothing doing but magic and mystery; the super sensualist white falcon II flies far side of nowhere; the TV's on the blink and all the world was ours!
Moonlight rider of ancient angels watching me the long lost summer at the Roy Rogers' Radio Ranch - Space Cowboys, White Falcon One, Wonder Kid and Puzzlepop fathom in my catalogue of dreams, "The Infernal Machine," until tomorrow. Comic cuts the listening station, "there are stars beyond the night!" Celluloid ghosts say "hey ho, there you go," my mortal coils.
