But Beauty Is Set Apart,

Music Sets Up Ladders, It Makes Us Invisible, It Sets Us Apart, It Lets Us Escape; But From The Visible There Is No Escape.

Why Wait For Death To Mow? Why Wait For Death To Sow Us In The Ground?

Luminous, Unfearful; High-priestesses, Our Fervour Shall Banish All Evil.

You Are Wind In A Stark Tree, You Are The Stark Tree Unbent, You Are A Strung Bow, You Are An Arrow.

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