Love Must Have Wings To Fly Away

Seizing The Swift Logic Of A Woman, Curse God And Die.

For Through It All--above, Beyond It All-- I Know The Far-sent Message Of The Years, I Feel The Coming Glory Of The Light.

And Thus We All Are Nighing The Truth We Fear To Know: Death Will End Our Crying For Friends That Come And Go.

Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks Of Time, Tiering The Same Dull Webs Of Discontent, Clipping The Same Sad Alnage Of The Years.

Are We No Greater Than The Noise We Make Along One Blind Atomic Pilgrimage Whereon By Crass Chance Billeted We Go Because Our Brains And Bones And Cartilage Will Have It So?