I Am Not The We Of Anyone

We Are Not By Nature Cruel.

I Am Corrupted To The Bone With The Beauty Of This Forsaken World.

If I, This Mortal Shell, Am Going To Die, Let Me At Least Live On Through My Creations.

You Think You Know What Is Just And What Is Not. I Understand. We All Think We Know." I Had No Doubt, Myself, Then, That At Each Moment Each One Of Us, Man, Woman, Child, Perhaps Even The Poor Old Horse Turning The Mill-wheel, Knew What Was Just: All Creatures Come Into The World Bringing With Them The Memory Of Justice. "but We Live In A World Of Laws," I Said To My Poor Prisoner, "a World Of The Second-best. There Is Nothing We Can Do About That. We Are Fallen Creatures. All We Can Do Is To Uphold The Laws, All Of Us, Without Allowing The Memory Of Justice To Fade.

His Own Opinion, Which He Does Not Air, Is That The Origin Of Speech Lie In Song, And The Origins Of Song In The Need To Fill Out With Sound The Overlarge And Rather Empty Human Soul.