Our Can'ts Were Born To

And Now You Are And I Am And We're A Mystery Which Will Never Happen Again.

If 180 Million People Want To Be Undead, That’s Their Funeral, But I Happen To Like Being Alive.

For Surely As Each November Has Its April, Mysteries Only Are Significant; And One Mystery-of-mysteries Creates Them All: Nothing False And Possible Is Love (who's Imagined,therefore Limitless) Love's To Giving As To Keeping's Give; As Yes Is To If,love Is To Yes

May My Heart Always Be Open To Little Birds, Who Are The Secrets Of Living. Whatever They Sing Is Better Than To Know. And If Men Should Not Hear Them - Then Men Are Old.

...losing Through You What Seemed Myself, I Find Selves Unimaginably Mine; Beyond Sorrow's Own Joys And Hopings Very Fears Yours Is The Light By Which My Spirit's Born: Yours Is The Darkness Of My Soul's Return... You Are My Sun, My Moon, And All My Stars.