If You Break Little Promises, You'll Break

Notions Of Chance And Fate Are The Preoccupations Of Men Engaged In Rash Undertakings.

To See God Everywhere Is To See Him Nowhere.

Any Time You're Throwin Dirt You're Losin Ground.

The Night Is Quiet. Like A Camp Before Battle. The City Beset By A Thing Unknown And Will It Come From Forest Or Sea? The Murengers Have Walled The Pale, The Gates Are Shut, But Lo The Thing's Inside And Can You Guess His Shape? Where He's Kept Or What's The Counter Of His Face? Is He A Weaver, Bloody Shuttle Shot Through A Time Warp, A Carder Of Souls From The World's Nap? Or A Hunter With Hounds Or Do Bone Horses Draw His Dead Cart Through The Streets And Does He Call His Trade To Each? Dear Friend He Is Not To Be Dwelt Upon For It Is By Just Such Wise That He's Invited In

The Freedom Of Birds Is An Insult To Me.