Your Old Road Is Rapidly

A Poem Is A Naked Person.

If My Thought-dreams Could Be Seen/ They'd Probably Put My Head In A Guillotine.

I Don't Think I'm Tangible To Myself.

A Song Is Like A Dream, And You Try To Make It Come True. They're Like Strange Countries That You Have To Enter.

You Can't Imagine Parlor Ballads Drifting Out Of High-rise Multi-towered Buildings. That Kind Of Music Existed In A More Timeless State Of Life.