No One's Serious At Seventeen.

To Whom Shall I Hire Myself Out? What Beast Should I Adore? What Holy Image Is Attacked? What Hearts Shall I Break? What Lies Shall I Uphold? In What Blood Tread?

No One's Serious At Seventeen.

Now I Am An Outcast. I Loathe My Country. The Best Thing For Me Is A Drunken Sleep On The Beach.

. . . Be Absolute Moderne.

It Was The Voice Of Mad Seas, Roaring Immense,/ That Shattered Your Infant Breast, Too Soft, Too Human.