If Your Life Is A Leaf That

It Doesn't Matter What You Do Because It's Going To Happen Anyway.

We Are So Small Between The Stars, So Large Against The Sky.

Seven To Eleven Is A Huge Chunk Of Life, Full Of Dulling And Forgetting. It Is Fabled That We Slowly Lose The Gift Of Speech With Animals, That Birds No Longer Visit Our Windowsills To Converse. As Our Eyes Grow Accustomed To Sight They Armor Themselves Against Wonder.

The Art Of Longing's Over, And It's Never Coming Back.

Ring The Bells That Still Can Ring.