I’m Lost. And It’s My Own Fault.

A Woman / Who Loves A Woman / Is Forever Young.

But Even In A Telephone Booth Evil Can Seep Out Of The Receiver And We Must Cover It With A Mattress, And Then Tear It From Its Roots And Bury It, Bury It.

The Place I Live In Is A Kind Of Maze And I Keep Seeking The Exit Or The Home.

I Have Been Cut In Two.

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not.