Being Kissed On The Back Of The

The Joy That Isn't Shared Dies Young.

There Is Joy In All: In The Hair I Brush Each Morning, In The Cannon Towel, Newly Washed, That I Rub My Body With Each Morning.

We Are America. We Are The Coffin Fillers. We Are The Grocers Of Death. We Pack Them In Crates Like Cauliflowers.

I Am So Imperfect, Can You Love Me When Really My Soul Is Deformed? Will You Love Me Anyhow?

What A Lay Me Down This Is With Two Pink, Two Orange, Two Green, Two White Goodnights.