Behind The Veil Of Each Night, There

For The Sight Of The Angry Weather Saddens My Soul And The Sight Of The Town, Sitting Like A Bereaved Mother Beneath Layers Of Ice, Oppresses My Heart.

And Forget Not That The Earth Delights To Feel Your Bare Feet And The Winds Long To Play With Your Hair.

Make Me, Oh God, The Prey Of The Lion, Ere You Make The Rabbit My Prey

Of The Good In You I Can Speak, But Not Of The Evil. For What Is Evil But Good Tortured By Its Own Hunger And Thirst? Verily When Good Is Hungry It Seeks Food Even In Dark Caves, And When It Thirsts It Drinks Even Of Dead Waters.

Even While The Earth Sleeps We Travel.