The Sin Is In Our

Man Is An Abyss, And I Turn Giddy When I Look Down Into It.

The Stars Are Scattered All Over The Sky Like Shimmering Tears, There Must Be Great Pain In The Eye From Which They Trickled.

The Breath Of An Aristocrat Is The Death Rattle Of Freedom.

The Strides Of Humanity Are Slow, They Can Only Be Counted In Centuries.

Revolution Is Like The Daughters Of Pelias: It Cuts Humanity To Pieces In Order To Rejuvenate It.