Not God With Wine, Nor Death, Nor

Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your Heaven Less Hell.

Love Is A Garment Riven In The Light That Rises From Parnassus, Showing The Night Is Over.

When You Would Think, "what Was The Use Of It," You'll Remember Something You Can't Grasp And You'll Wonder What It Was.

My Eye-balls Are Glass, My Limbs Marble, My Face Fixed In Its Marble Mask.

Lift Up Our Eyes To You? No, God, We Stare And Stare, Upon A Nearer Thing That Greets Us Here, Death, Violent And Near.