't Is Fortune Gives Us

So Peaceful Shalt Thou End Thy Blissful Days, And Steal Thyself From Life By Slow Decays.

And Heaven, That Every Virtue Bears In Mind, E'en To The Ashes Of The Just Is Kind.

Nobody Gets Into Heaven Without A Glowstick.

Now Deep In Ocean Sunk The Lamp Of Light, And Drew Behind The Cloudy Vale Of Night.

Like A Girl, A Baby Running After Her Mother, Begging To Be Picked Up, And She Tugs On Her Skirts, Holding Her Back As She Tries To Hurry Off—all Tears, Fawning Up At Her, Till She Takes Her In Her Arms… That’s How You Look, Patroclus, Streaming Live Tears.