There Is No Song To

I Cried Over Beautiful Things, Knowing No Beautiful Thing Lasts.

Poetry Is A Shuffling Of Boxes Of Illusions Buckled With A Strap Of Facts.

Valor Is A Gift. Those Having It Never Know For Sure Whether They Have It Until The Test Comes.

The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Grease But The Quacking Duck Gets Shot.

I Been A Wanderin' Early And Late, New York City To The Golden Gate An' It Looks Like I'm Never Gonna Cease My Wanderin'.