I Mean, When The World

Innocence Ain’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be, You Know. Innocent Little Kids Rip The Wings Off Flies, Because They Don’t Know Any Better. That’s Innocence

Pick A Sin We Can Both Live With, Is What I Ask.

She Breathed Deeply Of The Scent Of Decaying Fiction, Disintegrating History, And Forgotten Verse, And She Observed For The First Time That A Room Full Of Books Smelled Like Dessert: A Sweet Snack Made Of Figs, Vanilla, Glue, And Cleverness.

The Language Of Sin Was Universal, The Original Esperanto.

You'll Have Pie In The Sky When You Die.