On Tv, Talking Heads Wrung Their Hands

I Shan't Ever Understand Your Willingness To Lie Down And Die," Felicity Bars. "if You Won't At Least Try To Fight, I Have No Sympathy For You.

The Vicar, Whose Name Is Reverend Waite, Leads Us In Prayers That All Begin With 'o Lord' And End With Our Somehow Not Being Worthy-sinners Who Have Always Been Sinners And Will Forever More Be Sinners Until We Die. It Isn't The Most Optimistic Outlook I've Ever Heard But We're Encouraged To Keep Trying Anyway.

He Took Comfort In The Neon Signs, The Wild Strands Of Jazz Creeping Out Of Clubs Whenever Happy Swells Of People Pushed Through The Doors In Their Finery.

Board The Cows! We've Come To Enslave Your Marigolds.

And Now I Understand That Truth Casts A Spell Of Its Own, One I'm Not Sure Of How To Hold On To, Though I'm Desperate To Try.