One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences

Let God Be Some Tribal Female Who Is Known But Forbidden.

I've Grown Tired Of Love You Are The Trouble With Me I Watch You Walk Right By

I Am Younger Each Year At The First Snow.

Fear / A Motor, / Pumps Me Around And Around / Until I Fade Slowly.

I Leave You, Home, When I'm Ripped From The Doorstep By Commerce Or Fate. Then I Submit To The Awful Subway Of The World.