My Tongue Is Pierced With Glass.

Seville Is A Tower Full Of Fine Archers.... Under The Arch Of The Sky, Across The Clear Plain, She Shoots The Constant Arrow Of Her River.

I'm Afraid To Be On This Shore A Trunk Without Limbs, And What I Most Regret Is Not To Have Flower, Pulp, Or Clay For The Worm Of My Suffering.

What You Wouldn't Have Suspected Lives & Trembles In The Air. Those Treasures Of The Day You Keep Just Out Of Reach. These Come & Go In Truckloads But No One Stops To See Them.

The Day Hunger Disappears, The World Will See The Greatest Spiritual Explosion Humanity Has Ever Seen.

Little Black Horse. Where Are You Taking Your Dead Rider?