Harry got up. Dressed all in black. Went down to the station. And he never came back. They found his clothing. Scattered somewhere down the track. And he won't be down on Wall Street.
You live in a house of mirrors. Reflecting your splendid isolation. You have so much of everything. Except for true consideration. . The way you dance.
On a misbegotten, moonless night, I stumbled in my door. Disgusted with my circumstance, soaked to every pore. When floating from my bedroom, came a moaning and a sigh.