If There Wasn't Death, I Think You

One Never Knows Really How Things Are With Other People, They Just Do Always Seem More Spirited Than Oneself Somehow.

Oh Lion In A Peculiar Guise, Sharp Roman Road To Paradise, Come Eat Me Up, I'll Pay Thy Toll With All My Flesh, And Keep My Soul.

See The Cat At Love, Rolling With Its Sweetheart, Up And Over, With Shriek And Moan. But If A Person Comes By, They Break Away, Sit Separate Upon A Fence Washing Their Faces - And Might Never Have Met At All.

But One Wants The Idea Of Death, You Know, As Something Large And Unknowable, Something That Allows A Person To Stretch Himself Out. Especially One Wants It If One Is Tired. Or Perhaps What One Wants Is Simply A Release From Sensation, From All Consciousness For Ever.

Cry Pretty, Pretty, Pretty And You'll Be Able Very Soon Not Even To Cry Pretty And So Be Delivered Entirely From Humanity This Is Prettiest Of All, It Is Very Pretty.