As The Tenor Roars His Passion, I

If I Want My Time Wasted, I'll Waste It Myself.

The Best Hand Always Believes In Playing By The Rules.

As I Criss-cross The City Hurrying, I Feel Always The Unchanging Cold Beneath The Pavement.

Fear Of My Cruel Impulses Makes Me Kind.

Nostalgia Paints A Smile On The Stony Face Of The Past.