Where am I, I don't know, I'll never know, in the silence, in the silence you don't know, you must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on.

I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.

Love requited is a short circuit.

That's what hell must be like, small chat to the babbling of Lethe about the good old days when we wished we were dead.

Yes, I dont know why, but I have never been disappointed, and I often was in the early days, without feeling at the same time, or a moment later, an undeniable relief.

What goes by the name of love is banishment, with now and then a postcard from the homeland, such is my considered opinion, this evening.

Words are all we have.