There Is A Tear For All Who

Maidens, Like Moths, Are Ever Caught, By Glare, And Mammon Wins His Way Where Seraphs Might Despair.

Dreading That Climax Of All Human Ills The Inflammation Of His Weekly Bills.

I Live, But Live To Die: And, Living, See Nothing To Make Death Hateful, Save An Innate Clinging, A Loathsome And Yet All Invincible Instinct Of Life, Which I Abhor, As I Despise Myself, Yet Cannot Overcome — And So I Live. Would I Had Never Lived!

Critics Are Already Made.

By Headless Charles See Heartless Henry Lies.