Death, Lonely Death, Beneath The Withered Leaves.

We're All Curious About What Might Hurt Us.

I'm Satisfied. I Am Progressively Making My Life And My Name In The Surest And Purest Manner. If I Catch On In The Theater, As I Think I Will, All The Doors Will Gladly Open Wide For Me.

Love Is The Kiss In The Quiet Nest While The Leaves Are Trembling, Mirrored In The Water.

Everyone Understands The Pain That Accompanies Death, But Genuine Pain Doesn't Live In The Spirit, Nor In The Air, Nor In Our Lives, Nor On These Terraces Of Billowing Smoke. The Genuine Pain That Keeps Everything Awake Is A Tiny, Infinite Burn On The Innocent Eyes Of Other Systems.

Ditty Of First Desire In The Green Morning I Wanted To Be A Heart. A Heart. And In The Ripe Evening I Wanted To Be A Nightingale. A Nightingale. (soul, Turn Orange-colored. Soul, Turn The Color Of Love.) In The Vivid Morning I Wanted To Be Myself. A Heart. And At The Evening's End I Wanted To Be My Voice. A Nightingale. Soul, Turn Orange-colored. Soul, Turn The Color Of Love.