It's Raining My Soul, It's Raining, But

Memories Are Hunting Horns Whose Sound Dies On The Wind.

I Love Men, Not For What Unites Them, But For What Divides Them, And I Want To Know Most Of All What Gnaws At Their Hearts.

Come To The Edge.' 'we Can't. We're Afraid.' 'come To The Edge.' 'we Can't. We Will Fall!' 'come To The Edge.' And They Came. And He Pushed Them. And They Flew.

People Quickly Grow Accustomed To Being The Slaves Of Mystery.

I Sing The Joy Of Wandering And The Pleasure Of The Wanderer's Death