The Journey Is The Thing.

The Other Day, I Was So Desperate For A Beer, I Snuck Into The Football Stadium And Ate The Dirt Under The Bleachers.

Is He Not Sacred, Even To The Gods, The Wandering Man Who Comes In Weariness?

Sweet Sleep Fell Upon His Eyelids, Unwakeful, Most Pleasant, The Nearest Like Death.

Wine Sets Even A Thoughtful Man To Singing, Or Sets Him Into Softly Laughing, Sets Him To Dancing. Sometimes It Tosses Out A Word That Was Better Unspoken.

Go On With A Spirit That Fears Nothing.