The Dream Is Already Ended And We're

No Time For Poetry But Exactly What Is.

I'd Rather Hop Freights Around The Country And Cook My Food Out Of Tin Cans Over Wood Fires, Than Be Rich And Have A Home Or Work.

It'll Take You Eternities To Get Rid Of Me,' She Adds Sadly, Which Makes Me Jealous, I Want Her To Say I'll Never Get Rid Of Her - I Wanta Be Chased Till Eternity Till I Catch Her.

Suppose We Suddenly Wake Up And See That What We Thought To Be This And That, Ain't This And That At All?

The Bus Roared On. I Was Going Home In October. Everybody Goes Home In October.