uten tittel?

idag dro broren min og det var trist, og jeg gruer meg veldig til master og gruer meg til å dra tilbake til universitetet og alt og ting er fryktelig skumle for tiden og jeg er lettskremt

vi satt på litt musikk istad og hørte på Fosen, og Newsom og Dybdahl, og Joanna fikk meg til å smile og Thomas meg til å gråte

Peach, Plum, Pear

We speak in the store
I'm a sensitive bore
and you're markedly more
and I'm oozing surprise

But it's late in the day
and you're well on your way
what was golden went gray
and I'm suddenly shy

And the gathering floozies
afford to be choosy
and all sneezing darkly
in the dimming divide

I have read the right books
to interpret your looks
you were knocking me down
with the palm of your eye

This was unlike the story
it was written to be
I was riding its back
when it used to ride me

We were galloping manic
to the mouth of the source
we were swallowing panic
in the face of its force

I was blue and unwell,
made me belt like a horse.

Now it's done.
Watch it go.
You've changed some.
Water ruin from the snow.

Am I so dear?
Do I run rare?
You've changed some:
peach, plum, pear.
(Newsom's)