It Is Wrong To Say: I Think.

Morality Is The Weakness Of The Mind.

A Thousand Dreams Within Me Softly Burn: From Time To Time My Heart Is Like Some Oak Whose Blood Runs Golden Where A Branch Is Torn.

Whose Hearts Must I Break? What Lies Must I Maintain? - Through Whose Blood Am I To Wade ?

I Believe That I Am In Hell, Therefore I Am There.

. . . Be Absolute Moderne.