The Music Is In Minors.

Goodness Begins Simply With The Fact Of Life Itself.

And If Sun Comes / How Shall We Greet Him? / Shall We Not Dread Him, / Shall We Not Fear Him / After So Lengthy A / Session With Shade?

I've Always Thought Of Myself As A Reporter.

Beware The Easy Griefs / That Fool And Fuel Nothing.

There Are No Magics Or Elves / Or Timely Godmothers To Guide Us. We Are Lost, Must / Wizard A Track Through Our Own Screaming Weed.