Tear Off The Mask. Your

You Moan, "she Left Me." "he Left Me," Twenty More Will Come.

The Morning Wind Spreads Its Fresh Smell. We Must Get Up And Take That In, That Wind That Lets Us Live. Breathe Before It's Gone.

On The Way There Is No Harder Pass Than This: Fortunate Is He Who Does Not Carry Envy As A Companion.

You Must Lance An Ulcer To Heal It. You Must Tear Down Parts Of An Old Building To Restore It, And So It Is With A Sensual Life That Has No Spirit In It.

Love Opens My Chest, And Thought Returns To Its Confines.