Brain shack tricks the dawn for more than a few numbers at a time but we have nothing to offer you have nothing to regurgitate back into your open and hungry mouths. What am I to you, you who feed on everything and nothing as though it all were the bane and blood and bread of life what am I to you? What am I to you? What is the dawn or the sky or the window of the rain what is the earth with its veins and horses and beautiful, beautiful horses. . . ?