Watch Out For Intellect, Because It Knows

The Saints Come, As Human As A Mouth, With A Bag Of God In Their Backs, Like A Hunchback, They Come, They Come Marching In.

I Think It Will Be A Miracle If I Don't Someday End Up Killing Myself.

Poets Are Sitting In My Kitchen. Why Do These Poets Lie? Why Do Children Get Children And Did You Hear What It Said?

There Once Was A Miller With A Daughter As Lovely As A Grape. He Told The King That She Could Spin Gold Out Of Common Straw. The King Summoned The Girl And Locked Her In A Room Full Of Straw And Told Her To Spin It Into Gold Or She Would Die Like A Criminal. Poor Grape With No One To Pick. Luscious And Round And Sleek. Poor Thing. To Die And Never See Brooklyn. (rumpelstiltskin)

Death's In The Good-bye.