Gypsy's don't stand at the edge of the sink hole,..nor are they in the fray when the guns go off,..they are not pawns of the Ad machines, nor are they willows in the quiet fields,..gypsies own the universe for they are Gods henchmen in everything truthful, rich, stupendous , and cataclysmic,..when the burning barrels of the Megalithic shotgun roars in all it's symphonic defiance, there will be the Gypsy, draped in omens, portents, and blistering visions,. dancing in the dust as the twilight's of a zillion orange dawns persuade the moon to sing harmony with the marigold oceans for A last waltz in orchards of laughing eyed guitars.