A natty Frank Sidebottom astounds, pointing from the pageAnd communing, artfully dressed he admits us into the waysAnd walks of the wood. A scarecrow then is a squire of unrepentant earth, ploughingDeath by revealing that time can always be mastered. They are the multifaceted muse of mud and myth, madeOr modern; totems for a time long relinquished, whichMax Crow’s click now revives. For just like the cockroach,And come Armageddon, the conjugation of refuse, runeAnd ruin sets the scarecrow’s soul singing. Max Reeves is proud of them.