Always turn to the left they said, but it leaves you screwing down the manhole lid on a devil you'll never nor no one'll never see. Down, down, down the spiral, the never ending spiral and through the threads visible to no one. The end is all you seek but the end is nowhere in sight and so it's back, through Sunday papers and adverts that buy everything practically for nothing. Another going out of business sale to set the chumps alight. The bastards want your cash and for your cash they'll give you credit, no interest until after Christmas but first you'll need a tree, a money tree no less whose gumdrops of green mintyness float above the languid pools of blue and emanate first class seats to the Bahamas, where umbrella laden sissy drinks smell like marijauna. Mary Juana? The demon is your grand dad, who cusses out the ladies and questions every noble attempt to dispense legitimate medicine. Who is it good for? Cocksuckin' muthafuckas! Smile in the course of human events. Smile in the cause of accidents and who can you save but yourself as the Desi and Lucy flow down the drain. Hark the herald angles sing and the argus connect with diamond mine, in some South African boom town. I can't catch her. No one can. This land is not my land, this land is not your'n.