Dead Yesterdays And Unborn Tomorrows, Why Fret

The Grape That Can With Logic Absolute The Two-and-seventy Jarring Sects Confute: The Sovereign Alchemist That In A Trice Life's Leaden Metal Into Gold Transmute.

You've Seen The World, And All You've Seen Is Nothing; And Everything, As Well, That You Have Said And Heard Is Nothing. You've Sprinted Everywhere Between Here And The Horizon; It Is Nothing. And All The Possessions You've Treasured Up At Home Are Nothing.

The Flower That Once Has Blown Forever Dies.

You Know How Little While We Have To Stay, And, Once Departed, May Return No More.

The Moving Finger Writes; And Having Writ, Moves On.