I've Been To Too Many Dead Concerts.

Billy Here Has Been Talkin' About Slicin' His Wrists Again, So Is There Seven Of You Guys Who'd Like To Join Him And Make It Therapeutic?

The Flock Gets Sight Of A Spot Of Blood On Some Chicken And They All Go To Peckin' At It, See, Till They Rip The Chicken To Shreds, Blood And Bones And Feathers. But Usually A Couple Of The Flock Gets Spotted In The Fracas, Then It's Their Turn. And A Few More Gets Spots And Gets Pecked To Death, And More And More. Oh, A Peckin' Party Can Wipe Out The Whole Flock In A Matter Of A Few Hours, Buddy, I Seen It. A Mighty Awesome Sight. The Only Way To Prevent It—with Chickens—is To Clip Blinders On Them. So's They Can't See.

It Is Just As Much An Offense To Take Offense As It Is To Give Offense.

Memory Whispers Someplace In That Jumbled Machinery.

High High In The Hills , High In A Pine Tree Bed. She's Tracing The Wind With That Old Hand, Counting The Clouds With That Old Chant, Three Geese In A Flock One Flew East One Flew West One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest