Life Is A Long Headache In A

State Are Not Made, Nor Patched; They Grow; Grow Slow Through Centuries Of Pain, And Grow Correctly In The Main; But Only Grow By Certain Laws, Of Certain Bits In Certain Jaws.

So Death Obscures Your Gentle Form, So Memory Strives To Make The Darkness Bright; And, In That Heap Of Rocks, Your Body Lies, Part Of The Island Till The Planet Ends, My Gentle Comrade, Beautiful And Wise, Part Of This Crag This Bitter Surge Offends, While I, Who Pass, A Little Obscure Thing, War With This Force, And Breathe, And Am Its King.

The Lord Who Gave Us Earth And Heaven Takes That As Thanks For All He's Given. The Book He Lent Is Given Back All Blotted Red And Smutted Black.

The Luck Will Alter And The Star Will Rise.

His Face Was Filled With Broken Commandments.