I Held Out My Arms To Him

I Could Fight With The Living But I Could Not Fight The Dead. If There Was Some Woman In London That Maxim Loved, Someone He Wrote To, Visited, Dined With, Slept With, I Could Fight Her. We Would Stand On Common Ground. I Should Not Be Afraid. Anger And Jealousy Were Things That Could Be Conquered. One Day The Woman Would Grow Old Or Tired Or Different, And Maxim Would Not Love Her Anymore. But Rebecca Would Never Grow Old. Rebecca Would Always Be The Same. And She And I Could Not Fight. She Was To Strong For Me.

I Wondered Why It Was That Places Are So Much Lovelier When One Is Alone.

The Point Is, Life Has To Be Endured, And Lived. But How To Live It Is The Problem.

I Could Not Ask Forgiveness For Something I Had Not Done. As Scapegoat, I Could Only Bear The Fault.

All Whispers And Echoes From A Past That Is Gone Teem Into The Sleeper's Brain, And He Is With Them, And Part Of Them.