(death Is) A Leap Into The Dark.

To Be Nameless In Worthy Deeds Exceeds An Infamous History.

I Love To Lose Myself In A Mystery To Pursue My Reason To An O Altitudo.

Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me Try By Sleeping, What It Is To Die, And As Gently Lay My Head On My Grave, As Now My Bed.

Gardens Were Before Gardeners, And But Some Hours After The Earth.

To Extend Our Memories By Monuments, Whose Death We Daily Pray For, And Whose Duration We Cannot Hope, Without Injury To Our Expectations In The Advent Of The Last Day, Were A Contradiction To Our Belief.