Roll us down the mountain and I'm sure the fatman would win.
How can you laugh when your mother's hungry? How can you smile when the reasons for smiling are wrong?
She's a warm fart at Christmas.
The doer and the thinker, no allowances for the other, as the failing light illuminates the mercenaries creed.
I'll make love to you in all good places, under black mountains and open spaces.
Too many heroes stepping on too many toes, too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.