I Ride Earth's Burning Carousel. Day In,

Beached Under The Spumy Blooms, We Lie Sea-sick And Fever-dry.

O Love, How Did You Get Here?

I Want To Be Able To Sleep In An Open Field, To Travel West, To Walk Freely At Night.

I Have This Demon Who Wants Me To Run Away Screaming If I Am Going To Be Flawed, Fallible. It Wants Me To Think I'm So Good I Must Be Perfect. Or Nothing. I Am, On The Contrary, Something: A Being Who Gets Tired, Has Shyness To Fight, Has More Trouble Than Most Facing People Easily.

I Am I-i Am Powerful, But To What Extent? I Am I.