No Tears, Please. It's A Waste Of

The Sun Rose Like A Stripper, Keeping Its Glory Well Covered By Cloud Till It Seemed There'd Be No Show At All.

Evil, However Powerful It Seemed,could Be Undone By Its Own Appetite

Of Course It’s The Apparently Tranquil Periods That Deceive Us. Though Our Instruments Or Our Senses Or Our Wits May Not Be Able To See The Processes That Are Leading Toward These Clusters Of Events, They’re Happening. The Star, The Wheel, The Butterfly—all Are In A Subtle State Of Unrest, Waiting For The Moment When Some Invisible Mechanism Signals That The Time Has Come. Then The Star Explodes; The Wheel Makes Poor Men Rich; The Butterfly Mates And Dies.

We Have Great Cities To Visit: New York And Washington, Paris And London; And Further East, And Older Than Any Of These, The Legendary City Of Samarkand, Whose Crumbling Palaces And Mosques Still Welcome Travelers On The Silk Road. Weary Of Cities? Then We’ll Take To The Wilds. To The Islands Of Hawaii And The Mountains Of Japan, To Forests Where Civil War Dead Still Lie, And Stretches Of Sea No Mariner Ever Crossed. They All Have Their Poetry: The Glittering Cities And The Ruined, The Watery Wastes And The Dusty; I Want To Show You Them All. I Want To Show You Everything.

Sung To The Tune Of O Christmas Tree O Woe Is Me, O Woe Is Me, I Used To Have A Hamster Tree, But It Was Eaten By A Newt, And Now I Have No Cuddly Fruit, O Woe Is Me, O Woe Is Me, I Used To Have A Hamster Tree!