Two pieces of rambling howls cut up and edited (which defeats the purpose but..)
Iris had never had a man of her own; he stuck his stiff probing demented lyrics to passers by. This is the reason she decided to live in stopped time and he, in love with the arse, fucked the brains from the filthy tree and shouted even harder like a mad man. She was bastard. She was squealing for him too. To work in a three fingers in her pussy idea of grapes and how they pounded a supermarket and installed some bread in the tea tray. She satisfied, moaned and made wine. What she wanted, riffs like midnight temptation, sheeted bed, needed a new hairdo and this; interplanetery mushroom diver did it often. Pleasure on that silk! LSD and heavy spliff laiden was the way to do it. She liked colour, this was the new song they were talking about.