In The Broken Places, The

Dream After Dream We All Lie In Each Other's Arms

I Always Felt I Was Scraping The Bottom Of The Barrel Trying To Get A Song Together.

Seven To Eleven Is A Huge Chunk Of Life, Full Of Dulling And Forgetting. It Is Fabled That We Slowly Lose The Gift Of Speech With Animals, That Birds No Longer Visit Our Windowsills To Converse. As Our Eyes Grow Accustomed To Sight They Armor Themselves Against Wonder.

It’s A Depressing Habit You Have Of Loving To Sneeze And Of Eating Apples As If They Were Juicier For You And Being The First One To Exclaim How Good The Movie Is. You Depress People. We Like Apples Too.

History Is A Needle For Putting Men Asleep Anointed With The Poison Of All They Want To Keep.