We're All Worth The Same When We

At Night My Mind Does Not Much Care If What It Thinks Is Here Or There. It Tells Me Stories, It Invents And Makes Up Things That Don't Make Sense. I Do Not Know Why It Does This Stuff. The Real World Seems Quite Weird Enough.

How Much Good Inside A Day? Depends How Good You Live 'em.

Never Explain What You Do. It Speaks For Itself. You Only Muddle It By Talking About It.

How Many Slams In An Old Screen Door? Depends How Loud You Shut It. How Many Slices In A Bread? Depends How Thin You Cut It. How Much Good Inside A Day? Depends How Good You Live 'em. How Much Love Inside A Friend? Depends How Much You Give 'em.

A Spider Lives Inside My Head Who Weaves A Strange And Wondrous Web Of Silken Threads And Silver Strings To Catch All Sorts Of Flying Things, Like Crumbs Of Thoughts And Bits Of Smiles And Specks Of Dried-up Tears, And Dust Of Dreams That Catch And Cling For Years And Years And Years...