Hope Is An Echo, Hope

There Is No Song To Your Singing.

Money Buys Everything Except Love, Personality, Freedom, Immortality, Silence, Peace.

And How Should A Beautiful, Ignorant Stream Of Water Know It Heads For An Early Release — Out Across The Desert, Running Toward The Gulf, Below Sea Level, To Murmur Its Lullaby, And See The Imperial Valley Rise Out Of Burning Sand With Cotton Blossoms, Wheat, Watermelons, Roses, How Should It Know?

I See America, Not In The Setting Sun Of A Black Night Of Despair Ahead Of Us, I See America In The Crimson Light Of A Rising Sun Fresh From The Burning, Creative Hand Of God. I See Great Days Ahead, Great Days Possible To Men And Women Of Will And Vision.

The Marvelous Rebellion Of Man At All Signs Reading "keep Off.