Servants, When Their Lords No Longer Sway,

Friend, Many And Many A Dream Is Mere Confusion A Cobweb Of No Consequence At All. Two Gates For Ghostly Dreams There Are: One Gateway Of Honest Horn, And One Of Ivory. Issuing By The Ivory Gate Are Dreams Of Glimmering Illusion, Fantasies, But Those That Come Through Solid Polished Horn May Be Borne Out, If Mortals Only Know Them.

Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows No End So Voluble A Weapon Is The Tongue; Wounded, We Wound; And Neither Side Can Fail For Every Man Has Equal Strength To Rail.

Even Were Sleep Is Concerned, Too Much Is A Bad Thing.

Fate Is The Same For The Man Who Holds Back, The Same If He Fights Hard. We Are All Held In A Single Honor, The Brave With The Weaklings. A Man Dies Still If He Has Done Nothing, As The One Who Has Done Much.

Accept These Grateful Tears...for Thee They Flow, For Thee... That Ever Felt Another's Woe.