In A Dream You Are Never Eighty.

One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep Nightmares Out.

Evil Is Maybe Lying To God. Or Better, Lying To Love.

Well, One Gets Out Of Bed And The Planets Don't Always Hiss Or Muck Up The Day, Each Day.

I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault. It’s About Time I Figured Out That I Can’t Ask People To Keep Me Found.

Poor Thing. To Die And Never See Brooklyn.