That's the appealing thing about speech
It's a billboard of open space...

My lips are pressed and quick to blow
Your umbrella structure to smitherreens...

Christi, it's your momma from Heaven
Could I please have a word with you...

I'm just a docile snail
that occasionly...

I'm the Pillsbury Dough Boy
And I like my rolls buttered...

My temper is explosive
Dynamite in my soul...

Fifty two little faces
Fifty two friends...

Life is as feeble
As run away bubbles...

Oh these Poisoned Tears that I cry
Are laced with pain from deep inside...

Why was he snoring
Before he went to bed...

Thank you Lord for this beautiful day
Of which I know I could never repay...

We only get
So many sunrises...