And they write innumerable books; being too vain and distracted for silence: seeking every one after his own elevation, and dodging his emptiness. - T. S. Eliot
In the jingle jangle mornin' they'll be hauling away evidence by the busload.
And they write innumerable books; being too vain and distracted for silence: seeking every one after his own elevation, and dodging his emptiness. - T. S. Eliot
And they write innumerable books; being too vain and distracted for silence: seeking every one after his own elevation, and dodging his emptiness. - T. S. Eliot
Youll find that its stranger than known Signs in the street that say where youre going Are somewhere just being their own
Nowhere is there warmth to be found Among those afraid of losing their ground Rain gray town known for its sound In places small faces unbound
Round the squares huddled in storms
Some laughing some just shapeless forms Sidewalk scenes and black limousines Some living some standing alone
And they write innumerable books; being too vain and distracted for silence: seeking every one after his own elevation, and dodging his emptiness. - T. S. Eliot