Richey has been listening to too much acoustic introspection. He's taken to singing Leonard Cohen in the shower, and has written a song containing no slogans or anger. He's a little dazed himself
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I want something to teach Richey that there's hope in the world. Sadly, as I actually have to take him there, it can't be a comforting lie. Which narrows it down rather a lot.
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Where can one take an angst-ridden lyricist and an egomaniac aristocratic Welsh mediaeval cleric?
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I want something to teach Richey that there's hope in the world. Sadly, as I actually have to take him there, it can't be a comforting lie. Which narrows it down rather a lot.
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