So We Tell The Same Story, Over

Flirting With Madness Was One Thing; When Madness Started Flirting Back, It Was Time To Call The Whole Thing Off.

What An Unreliable Thing Is Time--when I Want It To Fly, The Hours Stick To Me Like Glue. And What A Changeable Thing, Too. Time Is The Twine To Tie Our Lives Into Parcels Of Years And Months. Or A Rubber Band Stretched To Suit Our Fancy. Time Can Be The Pretty Ribbon In A Little Girl's Hair. Or The Lines In Your Face, Stealing Your Youthful Colour And Your Hair. .... But In The End, Time Is A Noose Around The Neck, Strangling Slowly.

I Think A Lot About The Past, It's True. But At My Age, The Past Is More Present Than The Here And Now. And There Is Not Much Percentage In The Future.

Walk, First, Through The Fire, Then Philosophize.

Time Had Changed The Magical To Mundane