There's A Black Rose Growing In Your

For This Beauty, Beauty Without Strength, Chokes Out Life.

The Greeks Have Snatched Up Their Spears. They Have Pointed The Helms Of Their Ships Toward The Bulwarks Of Troy.

We Are Voyagers, Discoverers Of The Not-known, The Unrecorded; We Have No Map; Possibly We Will Reach Haven, Heaven.

There's A Black Rose Growing In Your Garden.

The Quivering Of Psyche's Butterflies.