This Was A Manuscript Of The Night

I'd Sleep And Forget It; I Had My Own Life, My Own Sad And Ragged Life Forever.

I'm Right There, Swimming The River Of Hardships But I Know How To Swim.

The Cowboy Music Twanged In The Roadhouse And Carried Across The Fields, All Sadness. It Was All Right With Me. I Kissed My Baby And We Put Out The Lights.

The Only Alternative To Sleeping Out, Hopping Freights, And Doing What I Wanted, I Saw In A Vision Would Be To Just Sit With A Hundred Other Patients In Front Of A Nice Television Set In A Madhouse, Where We Could Be "supervised."

Cliches Are Truisms And All Truisms Are True