You Have My Soul And I Have

My Mother, Poor Fish, Wanting To Be Happy, Beaten Two Or Three Times A Week, Telling Me To Be Happy: "henry, Smile! Why Don't You Ever Smile?" And Then She Would Smile, To Show Me How, And It Was The Saddest Smile I Ever Saw

The Sea Is Made Of Blood

Most People's Deaths Are A Sham. There's Nothing Left To Die.

There Is Moss On The Walls And The Stain Of Thought And Failure And Waiting

Some People Like What You Do, Some People Hate What You Do, But Most People Simply Don't Give A Damn.