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fortune | cowsay
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/ You go down to the pickup station, \
| |
| craving warmth and beauty; You settle |
| for less than fascination -- |
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| a few drinks later you're not so |
| choosy. And the closing lights strip |
| off the shadows |
| |
| on this strange new flesh you've found |
| -- Clutching the night to you like a |
| fig leaf |
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| you hurry to the blackness |
| |
| and the blankets to lay down an |
| impression |
| |
| and your loneliness. |
| |
\ -- Joni Mitchell /
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