I Believe Every One Of

It Troubles Me That People Speak About Writing For Money As Ugly And Distasteful.

You Lay Your Hand Against His Skin And Just Rib His Back. Blow Into His Ear. Press That Baby Up Against Your Own Skin And Walk Outside With Him, Where The Night Air Will Sourround Him, And Moonlight Fall On His Face. Whistle, Maybe. Dance. Hum. Pray. (how To Calm A Crying Baby)

She Felt Everything Too Deeply, It Was Like The World Was Too Much For Her.

Those Who Rhapsodize About The Ease And Joy Of Childhood Have Perhaps Forgotten What It's Like To Be 12 Years Old.

The Real Drug, I Came To Believe, Was Love.