Poets And Kings Are But The Clerks

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

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?

I Don't Say What God Is, But A Name That Somehow Answers Us When We Are Driven To Feel And Think How Little We Have To Do With What We Are.

Youth Sees Too Far To See How Near It Is To Seeing Farther.

Where's The Need Of Singing Now?