You Don't Have To Be A House

Longing Is Like A Seed That Wrestles In The Ground

Pardon My Sanity In A World Insane

Vinnie Rocks Her Garden And Moans That God Won't Help Her. I Suppose He Is Too Busy Getting Angry With The Wicked Every Day.

That Short, Potential Stir That Each Can Make But Once, That Bustle So Illustrious Tis Almost Consequence, Is The Eclat Of Death.

This Is My Letter To The World That Never Wrote To Me