... A Starving Man Doesn't Ask What

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not. The Trade Winds Blow Me, And I Do Not Know Where The Land Is; The Waves Fold Over Each Other; They Are In Love With Themselves; Sleeping In Their Own Skin; And I Float Over Them And I Do Not Know About Tomorrow.

Thumbs Grow Into My Throat. I Wear Slaps Like A Spot Of Rouge.

You Who Have Inhabited Me In The Deepest And Most Broken Place, Are Going, Going

My Eyes, Those Sluts, Those Whores, Would Play No More.

I Will Be Steel! I Will Build A Steel Bridge Over My Need! I Will Build A Bomb Shelter Over My Heart! But My Future Is A Secret. It Is As Shy As A Mole.