It Is No Madness To Say You

O Do Not Weep, She Says, For Ages Past I Was And I Endure

For This Beauty, Beauty Without Strength, Chokes Out Life.

There's A Black Rose Growing In Your Garden.

The Stallion And His Mare, Unbridled, With Arrow-pattern, Are Worked On. The Blue Cloth Before The Door Of Religion And Inspiration.

The Heart The Heart The Heart How It Thrives On Hate.