Letters from the Lunar Outpost

Envy is littleness of soul.
- Hazlitt, English Essayist (1778-1830)

I love you more than life itself
I love you more than my own health
You make me wish that I was dead
So I could forget what you said

Emasculate me with your photos and the comments that you make
And you can have me as you want me with that one thing that you break

You cut me down to size with your tongue, cut me any way you can
Defined by how I am hung, I am nothing but a man
You flash your scissor smile, cut me any way you can
I cannot help what I am, I am nothing but a man

I love you more than I can say
But you’re too bored to watch me play
I sing with all that I possess
You’d rather have me in a dress

I think she’s made herself quite clear, now I think I understand
There’s one thing she must take from me, then I’d be her perfect man

You cut me down to size with your tongue . . .

They died without a dime
They died before their prime
They had a damn good time

If only I could be your girl
We’d travel ‘round the whole wide world
But I can only be your man
Forgive me for the way I am

You cut me down to size with your tongue . . .

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Team of Rivals
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Doris Kearns Goodwin