If You Break Little Promises, You'll Break

Creedless Shells Of Men Tottering Down The Causeways Like Migrants In A Feverland.

Each The Others World Entire.

When We're All Gone At Last Then There'll Be Nobody Here But Death And His Days Will Be Numbered Too. He'll Be Out In The Road There With Nothing To Do And Nobody To Do It To. He'll Say: Where Did Everybody Go? And That's How It Will Be. What's Wrong With That?

The World Is Quite Ruthless In Selecting Between The Dream And The Reality, Even Where We Will Not.

And In The Dream I Knew That He Was Goin On Ahead And That He Was Fixin To Make A Fire Somewhere Out There In All That Dark And All That Cold And I Knew That Whenever I Got There He Would Be There. And Then I Woke Up.