The Squeaky Wheel Gets The Grease But

Tell Me If The Lovers Are Losers... Tell Me If Any Get More Than The Lovers.

Poetry Is The Synthesis Of Hyacinths And Biscuits.

And How Should A Beautiful, Ignorant Stream Of Water Know It Heads For An Early Release — Out Across The Desert, Running Toward The Gulf, Below Sea Level, To Murmur Its Lullaby, And See The Imperial Valley Rise Out Of Burning Sand With Cotton Blossoms, Wheat, Watermelons, Roses, How Should It Know?

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust, If The Women Don't Get You Then The Whiskey Must.

Always The Path Of American Destiny Has Been Into The Unknown. Always There Arose Enough Reserves Of Strength, Balances Of Sanity, Portions Of Wisdom To Carry The Nation Through To A Fresh Start With Ever-renewing Vitality.