What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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No Monsters in Me
Gary Golf stops all the clocks
With night nurse slippers and socks
He tries to keep this thoughts clean
By washing with Listerine
A little peck on the cheek
In dazed pajamas and sheets
Keep the light on, I'm not tired
I want to read my **** Francis
Dirty Frauleins and nasty Nazis
There are no monsters in me
Car alarms letting off steam
Gary hears them in his dreams
Panic outside is seeping in
Just easy-listening to him
Turns in his sleep and smiles to himself
There are no monsters in me
Cause Garry's out on the Green
No growing pains for him
Gary Golf Ball Eyes is not in