I Am This Fiery Snail Crawling Home.

I Didn't Feel That Way About It. I Had Been Playing With Death For Some Time. I Can't Say We Were The Best Of Friends But We Were Well Acquainted.

As The Shadows Assume Shapes I Fight The Slow Retreat Now My Once-promise Dwindling Dwindling Now Lighting New Cigarettes Pouring More Drinks It Has Been A Beautiful Fight Still Is.

I Have No Time For Things That Have No Soul.

As The Spirit Wanes The Form Appears

There May Not Be A Hell, But Those Who Judge May Create One. I Think People Are Over-taught. They Are Over-taught Everything. You Have To Find Out By What Happens To You, How You Will React. I'll Have To Use A Strange Term Here... "good." I Don't Know Where It Comes From, But I Feel That There's An Ultimate Strain Of Goodness Born In Each Of Us. I Don't Believe In God, But I Believe In This "goodness" Like A Tube Running Through Our Bodies. It Can Be Nurtured. It's Always Magic, When On A Freeway Packed With Traffic, A Stranger Makes Room For You To Change Lanes... It Gives You Hope.