I Love Death Because He Breaks The

It Is The Privilege Of The Rich To Waste The Time Of The Poor To Water With Tears In Secret A Tree That Grows In Secret That Bears Fruit In Secret That Ripened Falls To The Ground In Secret And Manures The Parent Tree Oh The Wicked Tree Of Hatred And The Secret The Sap Rising And The Tears Falling.

Marriage I Think For Women Is The Best Of Opiates. It Kills The Thoughts That Think About The Thoughts, It Is The Best Of Opiates. So Said Maria. But Too Long In Solitude She'd Dwelt, And Too Long Her Thoughts Had Felt Their Strength. So When The Man Drew Near, Out Popped Her Thoughts And Covered Him With Fear. Poor Maria! Better That She Had Kept Her Thoughts On A Chain, For Now She's Alone Again And All In Pain; She Sighs For The Man That Went And The Thoughts That Stay To Trouble Her Dreams By Night And Her Dreams By Day.

As Nature Is Always Careless And Indifferent Who Sees, Who Steps, Means Nothing And This Is Pretty.

People Who Are Always Praising The Past And Especially The Time Of Faith As Best Ought To Go And Live In The Middle Ages And Be Burnt At The Stake As Witches And Sages.

There Are Moments Of Despair That Come Sometimes, When Night Sets In And A White Fog Presses Against The Windows. Then Our House Changes Its Shape, Rears Up And Becomes A Place Of Despair. Then Fear And Rage Run Simply--and The Thought Of Death As A Friend. This Is The Simplest Of Thoughts, That Death Must Come When We Call, Although He Is A God.