Where's The Need Of Singing Now?

No Matter What We Are, And What We Sing, Time Finds A Withered Leaf In Every Laurel

I Mean You Last As Long As Lies.

Were It Not For Love, Poor Life Would Be A Ship Not Worth Launching.

And Thus We All Are Nighing The Truth We Fear To Know: Death Will End Our Crying For Friends That Come And Go.

Shake The Tree Of Life Itself And Bring Down Fruits Unheard Of.