I'm In A Constant Process Of Thinking

You've Got Some 'star-spangled' Nails In Your Coffin, Kid. That's What They've Done For You, Son.

The Bees In My Stomach Are Dead And Getting Used To It.

There Are Spiders Living Comfortably In My House While The Wind Howls Outside. They Aren't Bothering Anybody. If I Were A Fly, I'd Have Second Thoughts, But I'm Not, So I Don't.

It's Pretty Hard To Have Faith When Everybody Is Trying To Lock You Up.

We Could See The Children's Toys Here And There, And We Saw A Game That The Children Had Made Themselves Out Of Dirt, Deer Antlers And Abalone Shells, But The Game Was So Strange That Only Children Could Tell What It Was. Perhaps It Wasn't A Game At All, Only The Grave Of A Game.