You Think The Shadow Is The Substance.

For The Thirst To Possess Your Love, Is Worth My Blood A Hundred Times.

Your Eyes Are Even Smaller, Yet They Behold The World.

The Armies Of The Day Have Chased The Army Of The Night, Heaven And Earth Are Filled With Purity And Light.

In The Slaughterhouse Of Love, They Kill Only The Best, None Of The Weak Or Deformed. Don't Run Away From This Dying. Whoever's Not Killed For Love Is Dead Meat.

Your Grief For What You've Lost Lifts A Mirror Up To Where You're Bravely Working.