Life Is A Loom, Weaving Illusion.

The Crooning Turns To A Sunrise Singing.

Change The Fabric Of Your Own Soul And Your Own Visions, And You Change All.

Oh, I Have Walked In Kansas Through Many A Harvest Field, And Piled The Sheaves Of Glory There And Down The Wild Rows Reeled: Each Sheaf A Little Yellow Sun, A Heap Of Hot-rayed Gold; Each Binder Like Creation's Hand To Mold Suns, As Of Old.

I Think On Death As The Apparent End Of The Illusions That Encompass Us. They All Have A Sudden And Unexpected End, That Challenges Any Faith We Have Pinned To Their Worth.

Mumbo-jumbo Will Hoo-doo You, Mumbo-jumbo Will Hoo-doo You. Mumbo . . . Jumbo . . . Will . . . Hoo-doo . . . You.