Nobody Ever Finds The One

Dying Should Come Easy: Like A Freight Train You Don't Hear When Your Back Is Turned.

And The Color In My Eyes Has Gone Back Into The Sea.

Some Nights I Knew That If I Slept I Would Die.

All That I Know Is That I Believe In The Sound Of Music And The Running Of A Horse. All Else Is Squabble.

They Have No Idea That It Can Be Done By A Bus Driver, A Field Hand, Or A Fry Cook. They Have No Idea Where It Comes From. It Comes From Pain, Damnation And Impossibility. The Blow To The Soul Of The Gut. It Comes From Getting Burned And Seared And Slugged. It Comes From...new And Awful Places And The Same Old Places.