A Death-blow Is A Life-blow To Some

I Would Like More Sisters, That The Taking Out Of One, Might Not Leave Such Stillness.

I Must Go In, The Fog Is Rising.

Morning Without You Is A Dwindled Dawn.

The Soul Should Always Stand Ajar, Ready To Welcome The Ecstatic Experience.

He Fumbles At Your Spirit As Players At The Keys Before They Drop Full Music On; He Stuns You By Degrees. Prepares Your Brittle Substance For The Ethereal Blow By Fainter Hammers, Further Heard, Then Nearer, Then So Slow Your Breath Has Time To Straighten Your Brain To Bubble Cool,- Deals One Imperial Thunderbolt That Scalps Your Naked Soul.