On The Gallows Tree, All Men Are

The Air Smelled Of Paper And Dust And Years.

If I Look Back I Am Lost.

Sometimes I Think Everyone Is Just Pretending To Be Brave, And None Of Us Really Are. Maybe Pretending Is How You Get Brave, I Don't Know.

In This World, Only Winter Is Certain

Courage And Folly Are Cousins, Or So I’ve Heard.