These Songs Are Not Meant To Be

I Cry. Evil Dissolves, & Love, Like Foam; That Love. Prattle Of Children Powers Me Home, My Heart Claps Like The Swan's Under A Frenzy Of Who Love Me & Who Shine.

Life, Friends, Is Boring. We Must Not Say So. After All, The Sky Flashes, The Great Sea Yearns, We Ourselves Flash And Yearn, And Moreover My Mother Told Me As A Boy (repeatedly) 'ever To Confess You're Bored Means You Have No Inner Resources.' I Conclude Now I Have No Inner Resources, Because I Am Heavy Bored.

This World Is Gradually Becoming A Place Where I Do Not Care To Be Any More.

I Am So Wise I Had My Mouth Sewn Shut.

One Must Be Ruthless With One's Own Writing Or Someone Else Will Be.