We were to be the future.
To jettison sweet memories...

The soul has no domain behind
The eyes of viewers in...

The bells struck a silent tone
bidding sorry welcome to those...

Something is wrong at the hour of midnight.
Figures dancing, prancing 'round the clock...

Tarantulas and partisans
Telling Tanks and Telephones...

Come any, come all,
To the Carnival of Horror...

He was very Conflicted about his brother.
A fast man...

I came walking all at once
Down a dingy public by-street...

Well it comes again to the writing desk
where my quills have all absconded...

We're all trav'lers, aren't we?
We know not where we go...

There is a place I know of
where winters come alive...