It Is Strange How Sad It Can

Quite Like Old Times,' The Room Says.

London Is Like A Cold Dark Dream Sometimes.

After All This, What Happened? What Happened Was That, As Soon As I Had The Slightest Chance Of A Place To Hide In, I Crept Into It And Hid. Well, Sometimes It's A Fine Day Isn't It? Sometimes The Skies Are Blue. Sometimes The Air Is Light, Easy To Breathe. And There Is Always Tomorrow.

If All Good, Respectable People Had One Face, I'd Spit In It.

I Want More Of This Feeling - Fire And Wings.