But She Was Not Made For Any

Progress-progress Is The Dirtiest Word In The Language-who Ever Told Us- And Made Us Believe It-that To Take A Step Forward Was Necessarily, Was Always A Good Idea?

Dust In An Urn Long Since, Dispersed And Dead Is Great Apollo; And The Happier He

Upon This Gifted Age, In Its Dark Hour Falls From The Sky A Meteoric Shower Of Facts; They Lie Unquestioned, Uncombined. Wisdom Enough To Leech Us Of Our Ill Is Daily Spun, But There Exists No Loom To Weave It Into Fabric.

It's Little I Know What's In My Heart,what's In My Mind It's Little I Know,but There's That In Me Must Up And Start,and It's Little I Care Where My Feet Go.

My Heart Is Warm With The Friends I Make, And Better Friends I'll Not Be Knowing, Yet There Isn't A Train I Wouldn't Take, No Matter Where It's Going.