The Well Heeded Well Heard.

O You Proud Christians, Wretched Souls And Small,/ Who By The Dim Lights Of Your Twisted Minds/ Believe You Prosper Even As You Fall,/ Can You Not See That We Are Worms, Each One/ Born To Become The Angelic Butterfly/ That Flies Defenseless To The Judgement Throne?

Stand Firm As The Tower That Never Shakes Its Top Whatever Wind May Blow.

You Shall Leave Everything You Love.

Reason Flies When Following The Senses, On Clipped Wings.

Pure Essence, And Pure Matter, And The Two Joined Into One Were Shot Forth Without Flaw, Like Three Bright Arrows From A Three-string Bow.