For Mercy Has A Human

When Nations Grow Old The Arts Grow Cold And Commerce Settles On Every Tree

My Mother Groaned, My Father Wept, Into The Dangerous World I Leapt.

If The Doors Of Perception Were Cleansed Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is, Infinite. For Man Has Closed Himself Up, Till He Sees All Things Thru Chinks Of His Cavern.

Love Seeketh Not Itself To Please, Nor For Itself Hath Any Care, But For Another Gives Its Ease, And Builds A Heaven In Hell's Despair.

The Fields From Islington To Marybone, To Primrose Hill And Saint John's Wood, Were Builded Over With Pillars Of Gold; And There Jerusalem's Pillars Stood.