No matter how much I prove and prod, I cannot quite believe in God; But oh, I hope to God that He, Unswervingly believes in me.
Say, it's only a paper moon, / Sailing over a cardboard sea.
Follow the fellow who follows a dream.
How are things in Glocca Mora this fine day?
When the idle poor, Become the idle rich, You'll never know, Just who is who, Or who is which.
Leave the atom alone.