I've heard of fools who believe in a place like heaven where the paint dries itself and its warm and pleasant, I've heard of their books and how they pass on looks to their kids, give to those in need at gasoline stations and believe their hands are clean, frame their pictures and love everything. I've heard of those fools, and I've seen their forevers, crushed and spread over countertops, sleeping off the dust in the eye, forever thinking through forevers, with a magnificent presence.



and everyday they wipe themselves clean, science goes only so far, and then there is God, those fools make sense to me