Your skin is so smooth,
You have a magnificent thigh...

A blank look upon your face endures,
A misery in your heart is pure...

It's a constant barrage,
It's our life flashing by, in some sick, twisted...

Come with me, my deteriorating child,
We will be trekking far into the wild...

The despondency of life has defeated you,
The food has lost it's flavor...

Do you hear me, my little child?
It's the gray ghost...and you are the one I...

If the words were enough...
To transit time...

This girl, young and meek,
Wanting joy all her life, not knowing where to...

My stupidity,
Is legendary...

The field is large,
An open valley where 20,000 men fought...

I lay in my bed, as I have for forty days,
Listening, listening...but always in a daze...

Wanda Westhare from Zaire--which is nowhere--was...