I Am Always Thinking 'what Am I

The Smog Was Heavy, My Eyes Were Weeping From It, The Sun Was Hot, The Air Stank, A Regular Hell Is L.a.

The Bus Roared On. I Was Going Home In October. Everybody Goes Home In October.

I Suddenly Discovered The Delight Of Rebellion.

The Beauty Of Things Must Be That They End.

Sweet Life Continues In The Breeze, In The Golden Fields.