There Is A Fullness Of All Things,

Oh, Everything Looks Bad If You Remember It.

And By The Sacred Parchment, I Swear That If I Reveal The Secrets Of The Stonecutters, May My Stomach Become Bloated And My Head Be Plucked Of All But Three Hairs

I War Not With The Dead.

The Bitter Dregs Of Fortune's Cup To Drain.

By Turns The Nine Delight To Sing