By Their Own Follies They Perished, The

Like A Girl, A Baby Running After Her Mother, Begging To Be Picked Up, And She Tugs On Her Skirts, Holding Her Back As She Tries To Hurry Off—all Tears, Fawning Up At Her, Till She Takes Her In Her Arms… That’s How You Look, Patroclus, Streaming Live Tears.

The Tongue Of Man Is A Twisty Thing, There Are Plenty Of Words There Of Every Kind.

Heaven Hears And Pities Hapless Men Like Me, For Sacred Ev'n To Gods Is Misery.

Guns Aren't Toys! They're For Family Protection, Hunting Dangerous Or Delicious Animals, And Keeping The King Of England Out Of Your Face!

By Jove The Stranger And The Poor Are Sent, And What To Those We Give, To Jove Is Lent.