Dear Incomprehension, It's Thanks To You I'll

We Have Time To Grow Old. The Air Is Full Of Our Cries. But Habit Is A Great Deadener.

What Goes By The Name Of Love Is Banishment, With Now And Then A Postcard From The Homeland, Such Is My Considered Opinion, This Evening.

As It Is With The Love Of The Body, So With The Friendship Of The Mind, The Full Is Only Reached By Admittance To The Most Retired Places.

In My Head There Are Several Windows, That I Do Know, But Perhaps It Is Always The Same One, Open Variously On The Parading Universe.

The Whisky Bears A Grudge Against The Decanter.