What Should I Be But Just What

Here's A Song Was Never Sung: Growing Old Is Dying Young.

Ah, I Could Lay Me Down In This Long Grass And Close My Eyes, And Let The Quiet Wind Blow Over Me

There Is No God. But It Does Not Matter. Man Is Enough.

Sorrow Like A Ceaseless Rain Beats Upon My Heart. People Twist And Scream In Pain-- Dawn Will Find Them Still Again; This Has Neither Wax Nor Wane, Neither Stop Nor Start.

Should At That Moment The Full Moon Step Forth Upon The Hill, And Memories Hard To Bear At Noon, By Moonlight Harder Still, Form In The Shadows Of The Trees, - Things That You Could Not Spare And Live, Or So You Thought, Yet These All Gone, And You Still There, A Man No Longer What He Was, Not Yet The Thing He Planned.