I Went Home Each Night Dizzy And

Being Alone Never Felt Right. Sometimes It Felt Good, But It Never Felt Right.

I Grow Tired Of 18th Century Moralities In A 20th Century Space-atomic Age

We Drove On And On, Past Little Villages And Both Good Things And Bad Things Were Happening To The People In Those Villages Too, But I Still Was Nothing But Arms And Ears And Eyes And Maybe There'd Be Either Some Good Luck For Me Or More Death Tomorrow.

Those Faces You See Every Day On The Streets Were Not Created Entirely Without Hope: Be Kind To Them: Like You They Have Not Escaped.

Those Who Escape Hell However Never Talk About It And Nothing Much Bothers Them After That