Break The Skin Of Civilization And You

The Printed Page Was Like Wine To Me.

What Shall A Man Say When A Friend Has Vanished Behind The Doors Of Death? A Mere Tangle Of Barren Words, Only Words.

I See In The Papers Where Roy Guthrie Committed Suicide. Why, I Wonder?

I Have Put Off The Past Like A Worn-out Cloak.

What Do I Know Of Cultured Ways, The Gilt, The Craft And The Lie? I, Who Was Born In A Naked Land And Bred In The Open Sky. The Subtle Tongue, The Sophist Guile, They Fail When The Broadswords Sing; Rush In And Die, Dogs—i Was A Man Before I Was A King.