The Pimp Has A Grin, Never A

Crimes Of Which A People Is Ashamed Constitute Its Real History. The Same Is True Of Man.

There Are Mornings When All Men Experience With Fatigue A Flush Of Tenderness That Makes Them Horny.

My Heart's In My Hand, And My Hand Is Pierced, And My Hand's In The Bag, And The Bag Is Shut, And My Heart Is Caught.

The Despondency That Follows Makes Me Feel Somewhat Like A Shipwrecked Man Who Spies A Sail, Sees Himself Saved, And Suddenly Remembers That The Lens Of His Spyglass Has A Flaw, A Blurred Spot -- The Sail He Has Seen.

I Give The Name Violence To A Boldness Lying Idle And Enamored Of Danger.