He left our fine, trusting old dog on the highway. He thinks babies are like trash from Mcdonalds- to be thrown away. High on pot and his own drama, he breaks up four years by cell phone. Starts a requisite folkster band from his scyscapering view of Ivy league entitlement. His baby, his baby,our baby- is there a heart in him or a soul? No soul/Faux soul. I used to believe every song.