He Was His Own Leftover, The Spat-out

Where White Is Black And Black Is White, I Won.

The World's Decay Where The Wind's Hands Have Passed, And My Head, Worn Out With Love, At Rest In My Hands, And My Hands Full Of Dust.

There Is No Better Way To Know Us Than As Two Wolves, Come Separately To A Wood.

Haven’t You Heard Of The Music Of The Spheres?” Asked The Dragon. “it’s The Music That Space Makes To Itself. All The Spirits Inside All The Stars Are Singing. I’m A Star Spirit. I Sing Too. The Music Of The Spheres Is What Makes Space So Peaceful.

The World Rolls Under The Long Thrust Of His Heel. Over The Cage Floor The Horizons Come.