The Ugliest Man Was He Who Came

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

The Sex Is Ever To A Soldier Kind.

The Other Day, I Was So Desperate For A Beer, I Snuck Into The Football Stadium And Ate The Dirt Under The Bleachers.

Insignificant Mortals, Who Are As Leaves Are, And Now Flourish And Grow Warm With Life, And Feed On What The Ground Gives, But Then Again Fade Away And Are Dead.

Life And Death Are Balanced As It Were On The Edge Of A Razor