Friends, The Soil Is Poor, We Must

The Brains -the Thinking Organs- Are The World Producers -nature's Genitals.

Blood Will Stream Over Europe Until The Nations Become Aware Of The Frightful Madness Which Drives Them In Circles. And Then, Struck By Celestial Music And Made Gentle, They Approach Their Former Altars All Together, Hear About The Works Of Peace, And Hold A Great Celebration Of Peace With Fervent Tears Before The Smoking Altars.

There Is An Energy Which Springs From Sickness And Debility: It Has A More Powerful Effect Than The Real, But, Sadly, Expires In An Even Greater Infirmity.

Every Disease Is A Musical Problem; Every Cure Is A Musical Solution.

Friends, The Soil Is Poor, We Must Sow Seeds In Plenty For Us To Garner Even Modest Harvests.