An as-yet-unpublished poet in Boulder, Colorado, once said to me that anything worth doing was worth doing badly. I may seem, in the foregoing sketchy pages, to have followed her advice rather too well.
Tsuzuku : I wrote the lyrics on a day where I thought, “I might as well commit suicide today”. But still, life might somehow not only consist of bothersome things. That’s why I told myself, “There’s still work to do, so how about just writing about death in the lyrics instead?”