Death's In The Good-bye.

Inside Many Of Us Is A Small Old Man Who Wants To Get Out.

I Would Like To Bury All The Hating Eyes Under The Sand Somewhere.

Father, You Died Once, Salted Down At Fifty-nine, Packed Down Like A Big Snow Angel, Wasn't That Enough?

Take Your Foot Out Of The Graveyard, They Are Busy Being Dead.

I Am Alone Here In My Own Mind. There Is No Map And There Is No Road. It Is One Of A Kind Just As Yours Is.