We Are America. We Are

To Die Whole, Riddled With Nothing But Desire For It, Is Like Breakfast After Love.

Then God Spoke To Me And Said: People Say Only Good Things About Christmas. If They Want To Say Something Bad, They Whisper.

One Can't Build Little White Picket Fences To Keep Nightmares Out.

Our Children Tremble In Their Teen-age Cribs, Whirling Off On A Thumb Or A Motorcycle.

It's All A Matter Of History. Brandy Is No Solace. Librium Only Lies Me Down Like A Dead Snow Queen. Yes! I Am Still The Criminal.