I Think It Will Be A Miracle

I've Grown Tired Of Love You Are The Trouble With Me I Watch You Walk Right By

Saints Have No Moderation, Nor Do Poets, Just Exuberance.

If You Meet A Cross-eyed Person You Must Plunge Into The Grass, Alongside The Chilly Ants, Fish Through The Green Fingernails And Come Up With The Four-leaf Clover.

Rats Live On No Evil Star

Let There Be Seasons So That Our Tongues Will Be Rich In Asparagus And Limes.