It Takes All Sorts Of

When A Man Tells You That He Got Rich Through Hard Work, Ask Him: 'whose?'

As The Skull Of The Man Grows Broader, So Do His Creeds. And His Gods They Are Shaped In His Image And Mirror His Needs. And He Clothes Them With Thunders And Beauty, He Clothes Them With Music And Fire, Seeing Not, As He Bows By Their Altars, That He Worships His Own Desire.

A Little While With Grief And Laughter, And Then The Day Will Close; The Shadows Gather ... What Comes After No Man Knows.

We Pay For The Mistakes Of Our Ancestors, And It Seems Only Fair That They Should Leave Us The Money To Pay With.

Blood Will Tell, But Often It Tells Too Much.