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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Tossin' & Turnin'
Baby, baby, can't you see what you're doing to me?
I couldn't sleep a wink last night just a-thinking of you
Baby things weren't right I kept on tossin' and turnin'
Turnin' and tossin' tossin' and turnin' all night
I threw the blankets on the floor, turned my pillow upside down
Then I thought of you some more
And I kept on tossin' and turnin' turnin' and tossin'
Tossin' and turnin' all night
Jumped out of bed, turned on the light
Pulled down the shade went to the kitchen for a bite
Pulled up the shade, turned off the light
I jumped back into bed it was the middle of the night
The clock downstairs was striking four, couldn't get you off my mind
Heard the milkman at the door but I was tossin' and turnin'