The Crooning Turns To A Sunrise Singing.

They Tried To Get Me-i Got Them First! (suicide Note)

Let Not Young Souls Be Smothered Out Before They Do Quaint Deeds And Fully Flaunt Their Pride.

The Sun Is A Huntress Young, The Sun Is A Red, Red Joy, The Sun Is An Indian Girl, Of The Tribe Of The Illinois. The Sun Is A Smouldering Fire, That Creeps Through The High Gray Plain, And Leaves Not A Bush Of Cloud To Blossom With Flowers Of Rain. The Sun Is A Wounded Deer, That Treads Pale Grass In The Skies, Shaking His Golden Horns, Flashing His Baleful Eyes. The Sun Is An Eagle Old, There In The Windless West. Atop Of The Spirit-cliffs He Builds Him A Crimson Nest.

Factory Windows Are Always Brokenother Windows Are Let Alone.no One Throws Through The Chapel-windowthe Bitter, Snarling, Derisive Stone.

Authors And Uncaptured Criminals Are The Only People Free From Routine.