We All Need Money, But There Are

Fumbling For A Word Is Everybody's Birthright.

Every Dogma Has Its Day.

Death Comes Along Like A Gas Bill One Can't Pay.

And, My Brothers, It Was Real Satisfaction To Me To Waltz-left Two Three, Right Two Three-and Carve Left Cheeky And Right Cheeky, So That Like Two Curtains Of Blood Seemed To Pour Out At The Same Time, One On Either Side Of His Fat Filthy Oily Snout In The Winter Starlight.

I Was Cured All Right.