One Ought To Be Afraid

As Little Flowers, Which The Chill Of Night Has Bent And Huddled, When The White Sun Strikes, Grow Straight And Open Fully On Their Stems, So Did I, Too, With My Exhausted Force.

I Care Not Where My Body May Take Me As Long As My Soul Is Embarked On A Meaningful Journey.

Through Me You Go Into A City Of Weeping; Through Me You Go Into Eternal Pain; Through Me You Go Amongst The Lost People

Be As A Tower Firmly Set; Shakes Not Its Top For Any Blast That Blows.

They Yearn For What They Fear For.