Not God With Wine, Nor Death, Nor

It Is No Madness To Say You Will Fall, You Great Cities.

One Flower May Slay The Winter And Meet Death.

I Will Be Free, No Lover's Kiss To Bind Me To Earth, No Bliss Of Love To Counteract Actual Bliss.

Dead Men Would Start And Move Toward Me To Learn Of Love.

Who Dreams Of A Son, Save One, Childless, Having No Bright Face To Flatter Its Own, Who Dreams Of A Son?