But Fear And The Muse

Forgive Me, That I Manage Badly, Manage Badly But Live Gloriously, That I Leave Traces Of Myself In My Songs, That I Appeared To You In Waking Dreams.

Rising From The Past, My Shadow Is Running In Silence To Meet Me.

As The Future Ripens In The Past, So The Past Rots In The Future -- A Terrible Festival Of Dead Leaves.

I Should Be Proud To Have My Memory Graced, But Only If The Monument Be Placed... Here, Where I Endured Three Hundred Hours In Line Before The Implacable Iron Bars.

It Was A Time When Only The Dead Smiled, Happy In Their Peace.