Enough Small Empty Boxes Thrown Into A

Under The Harvest Moon, When The Soft Silver Drips Shimmering Over The Garden Nights, Death, The Gray Mocker, Comes And Whispers To You As A Beautiful Friend Who Remembers.

To Never See A Fool You Lock Yourself In Your Room And Smash The Looking-glass.

The Machine Yes The Machine Never Wastes Anybody's Time Never Watches The Foreman Never Talks Back.

The Moon Is A Friend For The Lonesome To Talk To.

There Are People Who Want To Be Everywhere At Once, And They Get Nowhere