My Trouble Is Insomnia. If I Had

Not Much Music Left Inside Us For Life To Dance To. Our Youth Has Gone To The Ends Of The Earth To Die In The Silence Of The Truth. And Where, I Ask You, Can A Man Escape To, When He Hasn't Enough Madness Left Inside Him? The Truth Is An Endless Death Agony. The Truth Is Death. You Have To Choose: Death Or Lies. I've Never Been Able To Kill Myself.

Most People Die At The Last Minute; Others Twenty Years Beforehand, Some Even Earlier. They Are The Wretched Of The Earth.

The Mind Is Satisfied With Phrased, But Not The Body, The Body Is More Fastidious, It Wants Muscles. A Body Always Tells The Truth, That's Why It's Usually Depressing And Disgusting To Look At.

In My Room I'd Barely Closed My Eyes When The Blonde From The Movie House Came Along And Sang Her Whole Song Of Sorrow Just For Me. I Helped Her Put Me To Sleep, So To Speak, And Succeeded Pretty Well... I Wasn't Entirely Alone... It's Not Possible To Sleep Alone.

This Instinctive Repulsion Which Tradespeople Inspire In Men Of Sensitive Feeling Is One Of The Very Rare Consolations For Being So Impoverished Which Are Given To Those Of Us Who Don’t Sell Anything To Anybody.