It's A Man's Jobno Place For Women's

It Is Always The Season For The Old To Learn.

I Pray The Gods Some Respite From The Weary Task Of This Long Year's Watch That Lying On The Atreidae's Roof On Bended Arm, Dog- Like, I Have Kept, Marking The Conclave Of All Night's Stars, Those Potentates Blazing In The Heavens That Bring Winter And Summer To Mortal Men, The Constellations, When They Wane, When They Rise.

The Burning Gaze Of A Young Woman, Such As Hath Tasted Man, Shall Not Escape Me; For I Have A Spirit Keen To Mark These Things.

Don't Try To Make Intelligent Decisions When Your Brain Is Hyped

Justice Shines In Very Smoky Homes, And Honors The Righteous; But The Gold-spangled Mansions Where The Hands Are Unclean She Leaves With Eyes Averted.