The Gertrude Stein Remix

In the inside there is chaos. In the outside there is calm. In the morning there is laughter, in the evening there is melancholy, in the evening there is melancholy. In melancholy, all is profound without resolve. In melancholy, all is describable without speech. In melancholy, all is amiss. In melancholy, all is familiar. In melancholy, there is solitude and entirely mistaken there is bliss. All the eyes have tears and all the locks have keys. All the black has discrimination and all the rain is falling. This makes release.