My Eyes, Those Sluts, Those Whores, Would

Let There Be A Heaven So That Man May Outlive His Grasses.

In A Dream You Are Never Eighty.

Someone Is Dead. Even The Trees Know It, Those Poor Old Dancers Who Come On Lewdly, All Pea-green Scarfs And Spine Pole.

I Would Like To Bury All The Hating Eyes Under The Sand Somewhere.

Suddenly I'm Not Half The Girl I Used To Be. There's A Shadow Hanging Over Me . . . From Me To You Out Of My Electric Devil.