They say steel. But I want to know what’s thicker, and could convince the questionable amongst you. Nelly Furtado says she knew she’d be famous, enviaged it, had premonitions of it, but how many is that true for? She’s just lucky it worked out, and every sad fucker with the same dream is a crisis-broadcast, plastic-wrapper, sweating their insides out, sure that breaks are lottery wins whose odds are as easy as adverts make it.
I saw my future, but I’ll never say what I saw in it.