The Soul Is The Weariest Part Of

A Black Star Appears, A Point Of Darkness In The Night Sky's Clarity. Point Of Darkness And Gateway To Repose. Reach Out, Pierce The Fine Fabric Of The Sheltering Sky, Take Repose.

We've Never Managed, Either One Of Us, To Get All The Way Into Life. We're Hanging On To The Outside For All We're Worth, Convinced We're Going To Fall Off At The Next Bump.

There Is A Way To Master Silence Control Its Curves, Inhabit Its Dark Corners And Listen To The Hiss Of Time Outside

How Many More Times Will You Watch The Full Moon Rise? Perhaps Twenty. And Yet It All Seems Limitless.

The Soul Is The Weariest Part Of The Body.