It seems unpleasantly refined to put things off till someone knows.

Law makes long spokes of the short stakes of men.

My heart pumps yet the poison draught of you.

Slowly the poison the whole blood stream fills. It is not the effort nor the failure tires. The waste remains, the waste remains and kills.

The heart of standing is you cannot fly.

Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end.

You don't want madhouse and the whole thing there.

A heart makes a good home for the friend.

If I told you about a land of love, friend, would you follow me and come?

Thought is an errand boy, fear a mine of worries.