I'm A Drinker With A Writing Problem.

The Bible Was A Consolation To A Fellow Alone In The Old Cell. The Lovely Thin Paper With A Bit Of Matress Stuffing In It, If You Could Get A Match, Was As Good A Smoke As I Ever Tasted.

Ah, Bless You, Sister, May All Your Sons Be Bishops.

Scream At God If That's The Only Thing That Will Get Results.

That You, Sister. May You Be The Mother Of A Bishop.

They Took Away Our Land, Our Language, And Our Religion; But They Could Never Harness Our Tongues.