Sing And Your Hell Is Heaven, Your

But Beauty Is Set Apart, Beauty Is Cast By The Sea, A Barren Rock, Beauty Is Set About With Wrecks Of Ships.

I Spit Honey Out Of My Mouth: Nothing Is Second-best After The Sweet Of Eros.

No Man Will Be Present In Those Mysteries, Yet All Men Will Kneel, No Man Will Be Potent, Important, Yet All Men Will Feel What It Is To Be A Woman.

Think Of The Moment You Count Most Foul In Your Life; Conjure It, Supplicate, Pray To It; Your Face Is Bleak, You Retract, You Dare Not Remember It.

I Myself Have Seen The Floating Ships And Nothing Will Ever Be The Same The Shouts, The Harrowing Voices Within The House. I Stand Apart With An Army: My Mind Is Graven With Ships.