I don't like the word rock opera, but I'm trying to write on that level that's reserved for plays still, or novels.
Jealousy endlessly eats through my mind, and jealously endlessly makes me be unkind.
Eve kissed Able, that's how he got murdered by Cain.
All the people have gone to war leaving no interrogator to mind.
The most important thing is work.
I don't think anybody is anybody else's moral compass. Maybe listening to my music is not the best idea if you live a very constricted life. Or maybe it is.