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Inside the homes, inside the stores,
inside the shops, inside the malls
the baby giants left giant fridges,
giant TVs, and giant stoves
and giant plates with mounds of food
that I could feed on for many moons,
pieces of sushi as big as steaks,
buckets of soda as deep as lakes.

Just popping in to say I’m not dead, I’m in LA and choking on a super big gulp of reverse culture shock. So please forgive the recent (stunned) silence.

In The Playground of the Baby Giants, Vincent describes LA as only an alien can. (And I’m convinced that’s what he is.) Listen here. More lyrics here.