I'm Always Looking, And I'm Always Asking

I Promised That From Now On I Would Write Only For The Lord.

It Draws It's Strength, This Big Secret, From The Same Root From Which I Draw My Strength, Both The Good And The Bad, Because In The End, They Cannot Be Separated.

Nothing In All The World Is So Nonsensical And Contradictory, Save Mortals, That Is, Who Live In The Grip Of The Superstitions Of The Past.

I Think That We Are Supernatural. We Are Unique. We're The Only Animals In The Universe That We Know Of That Actually Have Self-consciousness, A Sense Of Time And Our Own Mortality.

How Can So Much Beauty Hide Such A Bruised And Steely Heart, And Why Must I Love Him, Why Must I Lean In My Weariness Upon His Irresistible Yet Indomitable Strength? Is He Not The Wizend Funeral Spirit Of A Dead Man In A Child's Clothes?