Dust Into Dust, And Under

Dust Into Dust, And Under Dust To Lie, Sans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, And-sans End!

The Revelations Of Devout And Learn'd Who Rose Before Us, And As Prophets Burn'd, Are All But Stories, Which, Awoke From Sleep They Told Their Comrades, And To Sleep Return'd.

I Wonder What The Vintners Buy One Half So Precious As The Stuff They Sell.

The Moving Finger Writes; And Having Writ, Moves On.

So I Be Written In The Book Of Love. I Do Not Care About That Book Above. Erase My Name, Or Write It As You Will. So I Be Written In The Book Of Love.