O Happy Childhood! Blessed Youth! But Once

But From Each Crime Are Born Bullets That Will One Day Seek Out In You Where The Heart Lies.

Place Gifts Of Silver In Our Hands. Give Us This Day Our Daily Fish.

What Can I Say Without Touching The Earth With My Hands?

Your Wide Eyes Are The Only Light I Know From Extinguished Constellations.

We Are Dust And To Dust Return. In The End We're Neither Air, Nor Fire, Nor Water, Just Dirt, Neither More Nor Less, Just Dirt, And Maybe Some Yellow Flowers.