 I. The emotions are sometimes so strong that I work without knowing it. The strokes come like speech. |
 II. Everyday is like Sunday. Every day is silent and grey. Hide on the promenade, etch a postcard. "How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here" |  III. Heart is the engine of your body. But Brain in the engine of your life. |  IV. It's all too much, too grim, too lovely. It's general chaos. |
 V. She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust/Yet raves at her will/On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears |  VI Anything less than mad, passionate love is wasting your time... Life has too many mediocre things in it, love shouldn't be one of them |
 VI But every so often, I'll have a moment, when just myself, and my life is enough... |
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