I'd Like To Get Away From Earth

So Was I Once Myself A Swinger Of Birches. And So I Dream Of Going Back To Be.

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

One Of The Lies Would Make It Out That Nothing Ever Presents Itself Before Us Twice. Where Would We Be At Last If That Were So? Our Very Life Depends On Everything's Recurring Till We Answer From Within.

Hope Is Not Found In A Way Out But A Way Through.

All Great Things Are Done For Their Own Sake.