ScuolAxé: get on with it. Oh, what wouldn’t I give to be spat at in the face? I sometimes hang awake at night, dreaming of being spat at in the face It’s not pining, it’s passed on… This parrot is no more – it has ceased to be. It’s expired and gone to meet its maker. I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wildflowers. I put own womens’ clothing, and hang around in bars.