There is no frigate like a book To take us lands away, Nor any coursers like a page Of prancing poetry. This traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of toll; How frugal is the chariot That bears a human soul!
The Ideal girl in London from France
Came over then left me
She left me entranced
Now I have to get by once again on my own
Nothing but memories
So I remember your eyes that unique shade of brown
While these blue eyes of mine they stay closed
I kissed you goodbye on the M109
I choked as I watched the bus go
Choking and smoking to your angelic soul
choking and smoking myself into a hole
Where the only way out is to sleep and to dream
And to cry out your name.