To Think Things Out Properly And Fairly,

Inexperience Loves To Preach.

The Masses Do Not See The Sirens. They Do Not Hear Songs In The Air. Blind, Deaf, Stooping, They Pull At Their Oars In The Hold Of The Earth. But The More Select, The Captains, Harken To A Siren Within Them...and Royally Squander Their Lives With Her.

Within This Arena, Which Grows More Stable Night After Day, Generations Work And Love And Hope And Vanish. New Generations Tread On The Corpses Of Their Fathers, Continue The Work Above The Abyss And Struggle To Tame The Dread Mystery. How? By Cultivating A Single Field, By Kissing A Woman, By Studying A Stone, An Animal, An Idea.

I Believe I'm A Caterpillar Buried Deep Down Under The Ground. The Entire Earth Is Above Me, Crushing Me And I Begin To Bore Through The Soil, Making A Passage To The Surface So That I Can Penetrate The Crust And Issue Into The Light. It's Hard Work Boring Through The Entire Earth, But I'm Able To Be Patient Because I Have A Strong Premonition That As Soon As I Do Issue Into The Light I Shall Become A Butterfly.

Lord, Bend Me, Or I Shall Rot. Lord Do Not Bend Me Too Much, For I Shall Break. Lord Bend Me Too Much, Who Cares If I Break!