Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My

The Women Rest Their Tired Half-healed Hearts; They Are Almost Well.

Song, Like A Wing, Tears Through My Breast, My Side, And Madness Chooses Out My Voice Again, Again.

I Hope That One Or Two Immortal Lyrics Will Come Out Of All This Tumbling Around.

Your Work Is Carved Out Of Agony As A Statue Is Carved Out Of Marble.

It Is Through The Acceptance Of A Variety Of Aethetic And Intellectual Points Of View That A Culture Is Given Breadth And Density.