The Strides Of Humanity Are Slow, They

The Breath Of An Aristocrat Is The Death Rattle Of Freedom.

The Stars Are Scattered All Over The Sky Like Shimmering Tears, There Must Be Great Pain In The Eye From Which They Trickled.

The Statue Of Freedom Has Not Been Cast Yet, The Furnace Is Hot, We Can All Still Burn Our Fingers.

A Good Man With A Good Conscience Doesn't Walk So Fast.

Revolution Is Like Saturn, It Devours Its Own Children.