I Am Not In The Roll Of

Dream On, Dream On, Of Bloody Deeds And Death.

Your Bait Of Falsehood Takes This Carp Of Truth, And Thus Do We Of Wisdom And Of Reach, With Windlasses And With Assays Of Bias, By Indirections Find Directions Out.

Merrily, Merrily Shall I Live Now, Under The Blossom That Hangs On The Bough.

By Medicine Life May Be Prolonged, Yet Death Will Seize The Doctor Too.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.