Don't Forget To Support Your Public Library.

Crimson Flames Tied Through My Ears Rolling High And Mighty Traps, Pounced With Fire On Flaming Roads Using Ideas As My Maps.

I Kissed Goodbye The Howling Beast On The Borderline Which Separated You From Me.

Well The Deputy Walks On Hard Nails And The Preacher Rides A Mount, But Nothing Really Matters Much It's Doom Alone That Counts.

An Artist Has Got To Be Constantly In A State Of Becoming.

Madonna, She Still Has Not Showed, We See This Empty Cage Now Corrode, Where Her Cape Of The Stage Once Had Flowed, The Fiddler He Now Steps To The Road, On The Back Of The Fish Truck That Loads, While My Conscience Explodes.