Oh Lovers, Where Are You Going? Who

There Is A Basket Of Fresh Bread On Your Head, Yet You Go Door To Door Asking For Crusts.

The Result Of My Life Is No More Than Three Words: I Was Raw, I Became Cooked, I Was Burnt.

Move Outside The Tangle Of Fear-thinking. Live In Silence.

Don't Run Away From Grief, O’ Soul/ Look For The Remedy Inside The Pain/ Because The Rose Came From The Thorn/ And The Ruby Came From A Stone.

Those Loves Which Are For The Sake Of A Colour Are Not Love. In The End They Are A Disgrace.