When Death Takes Your Mother, It Steals

My Mother Was French Protestant, And My Father Was Italian Catholic, And Their Union Was An Excess Of God, Guilt And Sauce.

I Thought About The Days I Had Handed Over To A Bottle..the Nights I Can't Remember..the Mornings I Slept Thru..all The Time Spent Running From Myself.

Getting Old We Can Deal With. Being Old Is The Problem

Hello, Edward. I've Been Waiting For You.

You've Lived Through A Lot Of Wars, I Said. "yes." Do They Ever Make More Sense? "no.