Lovers May Come And Go, There Was

For You Are Abstract, Making No Mistake, Slurring No Word In The Rhythm You Make, The Poem, Writ In The Air.

The Race May Or May Not Be To The Swift, But Tell Me, Is It Likely That The Fight Will Be Entrusted To The Dead?

Light Threatens, Is Active, Is Gone, So It Is With A Song.

Words Were Her Plague And Words Were Her Redemption.

There Must Be Real Gods See, The Painted Gods How Fair!