I would be dead if it wasn´t for my syringe. I would be dead if it wasn´t for my insulin. Oh I would quit if it wasn´t for this beating heart pounding away. Now I may be a walking tragedy, at least I´m not a driving one. I never said that I knew anything anyway. Still I hear them at the door pounding away. And the markets they keep soaring, like buzzards in the sky. But boat, house, fish and notebook, I can travel through time.