Doesn't Our Knowledge Of Death

We Commit Our Crimes At Night And Reveal Ourselves In The High Noon Of Studio Lights.

World Is Supposed To Mean Something That's Self-contained. But Nothing Is Self-contained.

All Who Have Their Reward On Earth, The Fruits Of Painful Superstition And Blind Zeal, Naught Seeking But The Praise Of Men, Here Find Fit Retribution, Empty As Their Deeds.

I Am Very Unmusical. I Can't Carry A Tune. I Would Never Be Able To Play An Instrument.

The Power Of The Dead Is That We Think They See Us All The Time. The Dead Have A Presence. Is There A Level Of Energy Composed Solely Of The Dead? They Are Also In The Ground, Of Course, Asleep And Crumbling. Perhaps We Are What They Dream.