And What Does Anyone Know

I Am Sad, Sad As A Circus-lioness.

Very Few People Change After Well Say Seven Or Seventeen. Not Really. They Get More This Or More That And Of Course Look A Bit Different. But Inside They Are The Same.

My Life, Which Seems So Simple And Monotonous, Is Really A Complicated Affair Of Cafés Where They Like Me And Cafés Where They Don't, Streets That Are Friendly, Streets That Aren't, Rooms Where I Might Be Happy, Rooms Where I Shall Never Be, Looking-glasses I Look Nice In, Looking-glasses I Don't, Dresses That Will Be Lucky, Dresses That Won't, And So On.

I Sit At My Window And The Words Fly Past Me Like Birds — With God's Help I Catch Some.

The Last Time You Were Happy About Nothing; The First Time You Were Afraid About Nothing. Which Came First?