But We Are What We Are, And

There Are No Words And There Is No Singing, But The Music Has A Voice. It Is An Old Voice And A Deep Voice, Like The Stump Of A Sweet Cigar Or A Shoe With A Hole. It Is A Voice That Has Lived And Lives, With Sorrow And Shame, Ecstasy And Bliss, Joy And Pain, Redemption And Damnation. It Is A Voice With Love And Without Love. I Like The Voice, And Though I Can't Talk To It, I Like The Way It Talks To Me. It Says It Is All The Same, Young Man. Take It And Let It Be.

We Stare Into Each Other's Eyes And Softly Kiss Speaking And Saying More With The Movement Of Our Lips And The Tips Of Our Fingers Than Words Will Allow Us To Say. Words Can't Say This. The One Word Love Means Too Little For What It Is. It Means Everything And That Is Still Not Enough. It Doesn't Communicate Even A Fraction Of The Feelings Involved. Love. The Word Is Not Enough For What It Is. Love. Love.

To Live With Angels And Chase Their Dreams.

But We Are What We Are, And Humans Will Always Hate.

Light Streamed Through One Of The Windows And Across Her Face And I Have Never Seen Anything Or Anyone So Beautiful In My Life. If My Heart Had Stopped At That Moment I Would Have Fallen Happy And Fallen Full And I Would Have Seen In Life All That I Had Wanted To See And All That I Needed To See. Fall. Let Me Fall.