Tourniquet Boys The Spangled Sun mimics my ever churning cross-roads. I need not the Abused Angel's approval. Trident Tears trail soft sap down my cheek. The red giant forest is where I will lay. Tourniquet Boys chase me to the hollow songs. The Metal Thunder above causes the Fingernail Cliffs to abort all hope and the wind assures the twilight; just a little longer. Trifling swamp holes yield exploding Mud Cathedrals with eaves of Tropical Thrust. Mid-drift yellows spill over the greens and white rainbows.