Say Not, I Have Found

We Are The Sons Of Sorrow; We Are The Poets And The Prophets And The Musicians.

For The Sight Of The Angry Weather Saddens My Soul And The Sight Of The Town, Sitting Like A Bereaved Mother Beneath Layers Of Ice, Oppresses My Heart.

Sit By Me, My Beloved, And Listen To My Heart; Smile, For Your Happiness Is A Symbol Of Our Future.

Make Me, Oh God, The Prey Of The Lion, Ere You Make The Rabbit My Prey

Some Of Our Children Are Our Justifications And Some Are But Our Regrets