Truly Men Hate The Truth;

I Hate My Verses, Every Line, Every Word. Oh Pale And Brittle Pencils Ever To Try One Grass-blade's Curve, Or The Throat Of One Bird That Clings To Twig, Ruffled Against White Sky. Oh Cracked And Twilight Mirrors Ever To Catch One Color, One Glinting Flash, Of The Splendor Of Things.

Long Live Freedom And Damn The Ideologies.

Corruption Never Has Been Compulsory; When The Cities Lie At The Monster's Feet There Are Left The Mountains.

Truly Men Hate The Truth; They'd Liefer Meet A Tiger On The Road.

The World's In A Bad Way, My Man, And Bound To Be Worse Before It Mends; Better Lie Up In The Mountain Here Four Or Five Centuries, While The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean.