There Is Nothing Worse For

There Is A Strength In The Even Of Very Sorry Men

Blame The Guy Who Doesn't Speak Engish.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Not Vain The Weakest, If Their Force Unite.

This Is The Way I've Always Thought It Should Be. We've Always Blamed Ourselves, But I Guess We Know What Cylinder Wasn't Firing!