Small Faces. Tin Soldier. 1968.

"I, I'm a little tin soldier that wants to jump into your fire. You are a look in your eye, a dream passing by in the sky..."

I've been a prisoner of the "aura" for the past week, dudes. Laid up. Feet elevated. Trying to keep from sawing my head off with a dull pizza wheel. The only thing that gives me solace is turning the lights off and digging the dusty webs for face melting jams.