(McNabb). . When day is done, wind in my sails,. With confidence, how could we fail,. Fingers can pass through fire,. And somehow not get burned,. Hang your hopes upon, all you've learned,.
Vagrant suspicious and quite out of breath. Stumbles into a town where the people wear frowns. Picks up a paper, the pages are blank. They say, "No news today, no more writers around".