He Knew The Things That

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.

The Sex Is Ever To A Soldier Kind.

Like The Generations Of Leaves, The Lives Of Mortal Men. Now The Wind Scatters The Old Leaves Across The Earth, Now The Living Timber Bursts With The New Buds And Spring Comes Round Again. And So With Men: As One Generation Comes To Life, Another Dies Away.

I'm Not A Bath Man Myself. More Of A Cologne Man.

How Delicate Her Feet Who Shuns The Ground, Stepping A-tiptoe On The Heads Of Men.