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Midway In Our Life's Journey, I Went Astray From The Straight Road And Woke To Find Myself Alone In A Dark Wood.

Many Have Justice In Their Hearts, But Slowly It Is Let Fly, For It Comes Not Without Council To The Bow.

A Rapid Bolt Will Rend The Clouds Apart, And Every Single White Be Seared By Wounds. I Tell You This. I Want It All To Hurt.

Like The Lark That Soars In The Air, First Singing, Then Silent, Content With The Last Sweetness That Satiates It, Such Seemed To Me That Image, The Imprint Of The Eternal Pleasure.

Not One Drop Of Blood Is Left Inside My Veins That Does Not Throb: I Recognize Signs Of The Ancient Flame.