Frenchies

from by Revolutionary Hydra

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lyrics

Breton was dreaming of a crouton he called love, on a salad made of greener somnolence. Andre (G.) would say of a Russian whom he loved: "an epileptic in a moral way." Queneau you know was so colloquial and vocal, and mathematically quite local. Camus was blue, a military hue, as he tried to hew his words from rolling stones. Call me morbid, call me pale, I spent the night in a Paris jail for an act both stupid and absurd. Throwing pages in the Seine, it was a place I'd never been, one thousand pictures worth one word.

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from The PEEFs, released April 1, 2003

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Revolutionary Hydra Seattle, Washington

Note: All proceeds for any of our records or songs during 2020 will donated in full to Campaign Zero joincampaignzero.org.

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