We Are The Ghosts Of The Singing

Music I Heard With You Was More Than Music, And Bread I Broke With You Was More Than Bread. Now That I Am Without You, All Is Desolate; All That Was Once So Beautiful Is Dead.

Separate We Come, And Separate We Go, And This Be It Known, Is All That We Know.

All That Is Beautiful, And All That Looks On Beauty With Eyes Filled With Fire, Like A Lover's Eyes: All Of This Is Yours; You Gave It To Me, Sunlight! All These Stars Are Yours; You Gave Them To Me, Skies!

One Is Least Sure Of One's Self, Sometimes, When One Is Most Positive.

Death Is Never An Ending, Death Is A Change; Death Is Beautiful, For Death Is Strange; Death Is One Dream Out Of Another Flowing.