“Oh, where are the Sunday Comics?” “What would you want with the Comics? Can’t you see that I’m much sweet-ah? I’m your little señorit-er! You’re my type of guy, let me straighten your tie, and I shall dance for you.”

Just the other day I got a starter kit. Caught the face from the Sunday Comics from the mindstate, I play control to a fraud. Nah, it ain’t happenin — nada to make it even.

Number fifty-four, the house with the bamboo door…A bamboo roof and bamboo walls, they’ve even got a bamboo floor. I’m-a telling you, when you’re blue — well, there’s a lot to do. Read the Sunday Comics!

In a Sunday drizzle on Cuban heels, I rowed down the gutter to the blood bank and I’d left all my Comics on the Ticonderoga and was in a bad need of a shave.

The sun kisses the morning dew, just the way that I’m kissing you. The Sunday Comics are sweet harmony, teaching the free world how to be free.

I like to hide behind my glasses when I feel uptight. I like to hide behind my glasses when I’m reading the Sunday Comics — so I can give you all dirty looks and you won’t know what I’m thinking.

But I have heard of ways where people topple all injustice…and all bigotry is like a disease drowned in the sea, and all can read the Sunday Comics

Our love is the size of these Comics on Sunday; our love is the size of this hospital room, you’re my hospital groom. The ring on my finger so tight it turns blue — a constant reminder I’ll die in this room, if you die…