I Like To Smell Things And Look

I Laugh Until I Weep And Weep Until I Smile

Please, Please, Help Me Grow To Be Like Them, The Ones'll Soon Be Here, Who Never Grow Old, Can't Die, That's What They Say, Can't Die, No Matter What, Or Maybe They Died A Long Time Ago But Cecy Calls, And Mother And Father Call, And Grandmere Who Only Whispers, And Now They're Coming And I'm Nothing, Not Like Them Who Pass Through Walls And Live In Trees Or Live Underneath Until Seventeen-year Rains Flood Them Up And Out, And The Ones Who Run In Packs, Let Me Be The One! If They Live Forever, Why Not Me?

What Is The Subconscious To Every Other Man, In Its Creative Aspect Becomes, For Writers, The Muse.

It Was A Pleasure To Burn.

The Stars Are Yours, If You Have The Head, The Hands, And The Heart For Them.