There's A Black Rose Growing In Your

Lovers May Come And Go, There Was The Memory Of Blood, The Low Call.

The Elixir Of Life, The Philosopher's Stone Is Yours If You Surrender Sterile Logic, Trivial Reason.

There Is No Man Can Take, There Is No Pool Can Slake, Ultimately I Am Alone; Ultimately I Am Done.

We Are These People, Wistful, Ironical, Wilful, Who Have No Part In New-world Reconstruction, In The Confederacy Of Labour.

The Laying Of Fish On The Embers, The Taste Of The Fish, The Feel Of The Texture Of Bread, The Round And The Half-loaf, The Grain Of A Petal, The Rain-bow And The Rain.