The act of love . . . is a confession. Selfishness screams aloud, vanity shows off, or else true generosity reveals itself.
Albert Camus
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She Knows
and when my drug will start to get me down
shes always there you know she always can be found
and never lifted way to much on me
she always seems to be in touch with me you see she knows
and I am drawn to her it is as though
I were a moth and she the candles' glow
and when the world has got the best of me
shes seems to have the power to change my destiny
I try to tell her what is on my mind
and even though the words are hard to find she kknows
that when she comes to me
it is as though
I were the earth and she new fallen snow
and I will sing of all the things she knows
she gives me wings with all the things she knows