The Dull Pain Of Truth Weights My

Naughty John, Naughty John, Does His Work With His Apron On. Cuts Your Throat And Takes Your Bones, Sells 'em Off For A Coupla Stones.

As One, They Leap, Laughing, And That Is Where We Leave Them - Mouths Open, Arms Spread Wide, Fingers Splayed To Take In The Whole World, Bodies Flying High In Defiance Of Gravity, As If They Will Never Fall.

We Create The Illusions We Need To Go On.

Could I Have A Sloe Gin Fizz, Without The Gin?" "what's The Point Of That, Miss?" The Waiter Said. "tomorrow Morning," Mabel Said.

Might. Is There Any Opiate More Powerful Than That Word?