His flexible wings, wrapped round him, serve him as bed-clothes, and his mate carries the batling clinging to her breast even when she flies out to forage.

Baby, you're the one, you still turn me on / You can make me whole again

Let me dash off a quick note.

All a land clearer needs is a calloused skin and a dumb philosophy which refuses to recognize weariness and forgets man's right to pursue happiness.