So, Blind To Someone I Must Be.

All Day Long The Door Of The Sub-conscious Remains Just Ajar; We Slip Through To The Other Side, And Return Again, As Easily And Secretly As A Cat.

Oh, Pity The Poor Glutton Whose Troubles All Begin In Struggling On And On To Turn What's Out Into What's In.

Do Diddle Di Do, Poor Jim Jay Got Stuck Fast In Yesterday.

An Hour's Terror Is Better Than A Lifetime Of Timidity.

For Beauty With Sorrow Is A Burden Hard To Be Borne: The Evening Light On The Foam, And The Swans, There; That Music, Remote, Forlorn.