grasping for straws, coming up empty... defenses have been breached. moaning through the shells of our past there are ghosts here too... bottles in the gully saying this is how we lived, laughing gas and boner pills... losing your edge. shot in the arm. golf course in the desert. pulling apart the fibers... teapots in the attic and ashtrays in the cellar. this version of the facts... this land is our land.