In The Church Of My Heart The

The Love Boat Has Crashed Against The Everyday.

To Us Love Says Humming That The Heart's Stalled Motor Has Begun Working Again.

Too Slow, The Wagons Of Years, The Oxen Of Days--too Glum. Our God Is The God Of Speed, Our Heart--our Battle-drum.

Love's Ship Has Foundered On The Rocks Of Life. We're Quits: Stupid To Draw Up A List Of Mutual Sorrows, Hurts And Pains.

Art Must Not Be Concentrated In Dead Shrines Called Museums. Lt Must Be Spread Everywhere – On The Streets, In The Trams, Factories, Workshops, And In The Workers' Homes.