By Mourning Tongues The Death Of The

Without Art, We Should Have No Notion Of The Sacred; Without Science, We Should Always Worship False Gods.

Blessed Be All Metrical Rules That Forbid Automatic Responses, Force Us To Have Second Thoughts, Free Us From The Fetters Of Self.

For Time Is Inches And The Heart's Changes, Where Ghost Has Haunted Lost And Wanted.

To Be Free Is Often To Be Lonely.

Into This Neutral Air Where Blind Skyscrapers Use Their Full Height To Proclaim The Strength Of Collective Man, Each Language Pours Its Vain Competitive Excuse.