With Our Short Sight We Affect To

Slight Was The Thing I Bought, Small Was The Debt I Thought, Poor Was The Loan At Best - God! But The Interest!

Only The Rich Are Lonesome.

It's All A Farce, - These Tales They Tell About The Breezes Sighing, And Moans Astir O'er Field And Dell, Because The Year Is Dying.

This, This Indeed Is To Be Accursed, For If We Mortals Love, Or If We Sing, We Count Our Joys Not By What We Have, But By What Kept Us From That Perfect Thing.

..we Wear The Mask That Grins And Lies, It Hides Our Cheeks And Shades Our Eyes- This Debt We Pay To Human Guile; With Torn And Bleeding Hearts We Smile.