Words Were Her Plague And Words Were

Not God With Wine, Nor Death, Nor Hate For A Cry, But God With A Song

The Things I Have Are Nameless, Old And True; They May Not Be Named; Few May Live And Know.

I Smiled, I Waited, I Was Circumspect; O Never, Never, Never Write That I Missed Life Or Loving.

Luminous, Unfearful; High-priestesses, Our Fervour Shall Banish All Evil.

The Heart The Heart The Heart How It Thrives On Hate.