No One Masters The Heart.

Seven To Eleven Is A Huge Chunk Of Life, Full Of Dulling And Forgetting. It Is Fabled That We Slowly Lose The Gift Of Speech With Animals, That Birds No Longer Visit Our Windowsills To Converse. As Our Eyes Grow Accustomed To Sight They Armor Themselves Against Wonder.

..you Wanted To Be The Superman Who Was Never Clark Kent

I Know There Is An Eye That Watches All Of Us. There Is A Judgment That Weighs Everything We Do. And Before This Great Force, Which Is Greater Than Any Government I Stand In Awe And I Kneel In Respect And It Is To This Great Judgment That I Dedicate This Next Song...

Like A Bird On A Wire, Like A Drunk In A Midnight Choir, I Have Tried In My Way To Be Free!!

And May My Bronze Name / Touch Always Her Thousand Fingers / Grow Brighter With Her Weeping / Until I Am Fixed Like A Galaxy / And Memorized / In Her Secret And Fragile Skies.