Lovers May Come And Go, There Was

O Happy, Happy Each Man Whom Predestined Fate Leads To The Holy Rite Of Hill And Mountain Worship.

Dead Men Would Start And Move Toward Me To Learn Of Love.

One Flower May Slay The Winter And Meet Death.

We Don't Have To Know,only To Be:let Go The Jumble Of Worn Words,reason And Vanity.

Lovers May Come And Go, There Was The Memory Of Blood, The Low Call.