She makes love just like a woman.

The inmates and prisoners, I found they were my kind, and it was there inside the bars I found my peace of mind.

There's not even room enough to be anywhere/It's not dark yet, but it's getting there.../I was born here and I'll die here against my will/I know it looks like I'm moving, but I'm standing still.

Night can swallow you up, yet none of it touches you. Around any corner, there's a promise of something daring and ideal and things are just getting going. There's something obscenely joyful behind every door, either that or somebody crying with their head in in their hands. A lazy rhythm looms in the dreamy air and the atmosphere pulsates with bygone duels, past-life romance, comrades requesting comrades to aid them in some way. You can't see it, but you know it's there

Charity is suppose to cover up for a multitude of sins.

When you cease to exist, then who will you blame?

Every man's conscience is vile and depraved / You cannot depend on it to be your guide when it’s you who must keep it satisfied.