You Would Think Such A Day Would

In The Vaults Of Our Hearts And Brains, Danger Waits. All The Chambers Are Not Lovely, Light And High. There Are Holes In The Floor Of The Mind, Like Those In A Medieval Dungeon Floor - The Stinking Oubliettes, Named For Forgetting, Bottle-shaped Cells In Solid Rock With The Trapdoor In The Top. Nothing Escapes From Them Quietly To Ease Us. A Quake, Some Betrayal By Our Safeguards, And Sparks Of Memory Fire The Noxious Gases - Things Trapped For Years Fly Free, Ready To Explode In Pain And Drive Us To Dangerous Behavior.

Over This Odd World, This Half The World That's Dark Now, I Have To Hunt A Thing That Lives On Tears.

We Can Only Learn So Much And Live.

There Is A Common Emotion We All Recognize And Have Not Yet Named -- The Happy Anticipation Of Being Able To Feel Contempt.

You Cant Reduce Me To A Set Of Influences.