It's True That What Is Morbid Is

A True Opium Of The People Is A Belief In Nothingness After Death.

It Is Impossible To Communicate To People Who Have Not Experienced It The Undefinable Menace Of Total Rationalism.

From Life, From The Apple Cut By The Flaming Knife, What Grain Will Be Saved? My Son, Believe Me, Nothing Remains, Only Adult Toil, The Furrow Of Fate In The Palm. Only Toil, Nothing More.

And Now I Am Ready To Keep Running When The Sun Rises Beyond The Borderlands Of Death. I Already See Mountain Ridges In The Heavenly Forest Where, Beyond Every Essence, A New Essence Awaits.

Poetry Is News Brought To The Mountains By A Unicorn And An Echo.