Weave, Weave The Sunlight In Your Hair-

Footfalls Echo In The Memory, Down The Passage We Did Not Take, Towards The Door We Never Opened, Into The Rose Garden.

I Was Too Slow A Mover To Be A Boxer. It Was Much Easier To Be A Poet.

O Father, Father Gone From Us, Lost To Us, The Church Lies Bereft, Alone, Desecrated, Desolated. And The Heathen Shall Build On The Ruins Their World Without God. I See It. I See It.

The Definition Of Hell Is A Place Where Nothing Connects With Nothing.

Till Human Voices Wake Us, And We Drown.