Is Virgin You Trying To Fathom Me

The Air Was So Sweet In New Orleans It Seemed To Come In Soft Bandannas; And You Could Smell The River And Really Smell The People, And Mud, And Molasses, And Every Kind Of Tropical Exhalation, With Your Nose Suddenly Removed From The Dry Ices Of A Northern Winter.

Stick At It Like A Benni Addict

Who Can Leap The World's Ties And Sit With Me Among White Clouds?

And The Story Of Love Is A Long Sad Tale Ending In Graves.

The Truth Of The Matter Is We Don't Understand Our Women; We Blame On Them And It's All Our Fault.