and the stars were icicles of mockery

That's the story of my life rich or poor and mostly poor and truly poor.

This is the story of America. Everybody's doing what they think they're supposed to do.

One night I realized that when you give people understanding and encouragement a funny little meek childish look abashes their eyes, no matter what they've been doing they weren't sure it was right - lambies all over the world.

The bartenders are the regular band of Jack, and the heavenly drummer who looks up to the sky with blue eyes, with a beard, is wailing beer-caps of bottles and jamming on the cash register and everything is going to the beat - It's the beat generation, its béat, it's the beat to keep, it's the beat of the heart, it's being beat and down in the world and like oldtime lowdown.

Will you love me in December as you do in May?

You guys are going somewhere or just going?