I'll make love to you in all good places, under black mountains and open spaces.

Jump up, look around, find yourself some fun. No sense in sitting there hating everyone.

The sand-castle virtues are all swept away in the tidal destruction, the moral melee.

In your pomp and all your glory, you're a poorer man than me.

Too many heroes stepping on too many toes, too many yes-men nodding when they really mean no.

A sweetly scented angel fell, she laid her head upon my disbelief, and battled with me with her ever smile.

The Christmas spirit is not what you drink.