Drop Tacitus. Phrenologically, my young friend, you would seem to have a well-developed head, and large; but cribbed within the ugly view, the Tacitus view, your large brain, like your large ox in the contracted field, will but starve the more. And don't dream, as some of you students may, that, by taking this same ugly view, the deeper meanings of the deeper books will so alone become revealed to you. Drop Tacitus. His subtelty is falsity. To him, in his double-refined anatomy of human nature, is well-applied the Scripture saying--"There is a subtle man, and the same is deceived." Drop Tacitus. Come now, let me throw the book overboard.
So. As Tacitus would have no doubt put it: Fuck It.
There is nothing at all wrong with celebrating the same musical group a lot of times in a row, if that is what happens to be powering your steamboat at the time. Besides, this is all Sweet Toddler J's fault anyway.
And then, Harrogate was suddenly seized with the paralytic, ungraspable fear that Oxymoron has never heard this song. Which must be corrected forthwith.
"As we get older
And Stop Making Sense,
You won't find her waiting long."
Now that right there is worthy of Blake.