The Easter egg which was not foundcontained a letter from the hen who laid it,saying "Fuck your kids,What about mine?

Your fans, they love you erratic, charmingly gut-shot. They place the rose in your teeth, and you live off the thorns.

Beauty should never lower its guard around Appetite.

They were Catholic, my lovers,All in an access of crossing themselves,Particularly their fingersBehind their suspendered backs--And that was the women.