You hit me yesterday and It was the opposite of your simple but deadly way But had I known yet the algorithm of your Otzi-bronze-age-face I would have gone right into my own pidgin and talked also to your scythian glass vase I heard you had gone and changed your name again. And was now weilding your weapons like obi-wan-ben. I heard you and your family was still in red balls view and earth's microbial zoo. And I would have changed my approach to the colored puzzle brain of you. You can always come to me for a friend. Best friends forever is what my Hittite soul reccomends. You can always put your graymatter on the barstool right beside of me for our 20 million strong is still a homosapien rarity. Now I know you can beat me up with only your bronze age boxing gloves And now I send you only the deepest bit of my own Mycenean-love The planned city of King-City had the most bitchin black architects. And the city's building's had the the same as nyc's 20th century's skyscaper projects