To All Men Who Can:

We must articulate our sorrow; find joy in the grief
Call the resurgence when anguish is chief!
Illuminate Dark Alley
There is no finale

But the ethereal timeless bliss
            

Return solemn calling
of the moon,
Return to the mother
flowers in bloom


Listless excursion
Our soul's in aversion
To the petty game we made

Love be thine calling,
Our souls are not falling to this

Infatuous State of Sin