The Combat Deepens. On, Ye Brave, Who

Tomorrow Let Us Do Or Die!

The Proud, The Cold Untroubled Heart Of Stone, That Never Mused On Sorrow But Its Own.

The Being Level Speaks The Language Of Art, Music, Color Shape And Pattern Directly -- A Language That Requires No Words -- Is Not Limited By Words -- Nor Does It Have The Specificity Of Words And Thus Cannot Be Broken Onto Parts That Can Be Manipulated Or Analyzed By The Intellect. It Must Be Swallowed, Whole Not Parsed, Sorted And Justified.

Oh, How Hard It Is To Find The One Just Suited To Our Mind!

Never Wedding, Ever Wooing, Still A Lovelorn Heart Pursuing, Read You Not The Wrong You're Doing In My Cheek's Pale Hue? All My Life With Sorrow Strewing; Wed Or Cease To Woo.