As I Have Not Worried To Be

Ditty Of First Desire In The Green Morning I Wanted To Be A Heart. A Heart. And In The Ripe Evening I Wanted To Be A Nightingale. A Nightingale. (soul, Turn Orange-colored. Soul, Turn The Color Of Love.) In The Vivid Morning I Wanted To Be Myself. A Heart. And At The Evening's End I Wanted To Be My Voice. A Nightingale. Soul, Turn Orange-colored. Soul, Turn The Color Of Love.

If I Told You The Whole Story It Would Never End...what's Happened To Me Has Happened To A Thousand Woman.

New York Is Something Awful, Something Monstrous. I Like To Walk The Streets, Lost, But I Recognize That New York Is The World's Greatest Lie. New York Is Senegal With Machines.

A Poet Must Be A Professor Of The Five Senses And Must Open Doors Among Them.

To Burn With Desire And Keep Quiet About It Is The Greatest Punishment We Can Bring On Ourselves.