As I watched the seagulls, I thought, That's the road to take; find the absolute rhythm and follow it with absolute trust.
Now I'm livin' out here on the beach, but those seagulls are still out of reach.
The legends lie cradled in the seagulls call, and the promise they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
When it blows here, even the seagulls walk.
Remember the band, Flock of Seagulls? They had their van stolen. I was like, They still have a van?
I grew up on Lake Michigan during the PCB explosion, and I remember seeing the sick, dead fish with tumors, the weird deformed seagulls, the scum and the filth floating. We couldn't go swimming.
It's hard enough to go through puberty. Everyone's embarassed about their youth, but if just happens that the '80s were particularly disgusting. Flock of Seagulls is not cool.
Seagulls. . . slim yachts of the element.