No One Thinks Of How Much Blood

Through Me You Go Into A City Of Weeping; Through Me You Go Into Eternal Pain; Through Me You Go Amongst The Lost People

O Faithful Conscience, Delicately Pure, How Doth A Little Failing Wound Thee Sore!

L'amor Che Move Il Sole E L'altre Stelle (the Love That Moves The Sun And The Other Stars)

Now You Know How Much My Love For You Burns Deep In Me When I Forget About Our Emptiness, And Deal With Shadows As With Solid Things.

There Is No Greater Pain Than To Remember, In Our Present Grief, Past Happiness.