Sundays Kill More People Than

I Didn't Like Anybody In That School. I Think They Knew That. I Think That's Why They Disliked Me. I Didn't Like The Way They Walked Or Looked Or Talked, But I Didn't Like My Mother Or Father Either. I Still Had The Feeling Of Being Surrounded By White Empty Space. There Was Always A Slight Nausea In My Stomach.

There's A Light Somewhere. It May Not Be Much Light But It Beats The Darkness.

Pretty Words, As Pretty Women, Wrinkle Up And Die.

There's Music In Everything, Even Defeat

My Heart Is A Thousand Years Old. I Am Not Like Other People.