The Lie Was Dead And

Inscribe All Human Effort With One Word, Artistry's Haunting Curse, The Incomplete!

Art Remains The One Way Possible Of Speaking Truth.

The Sad Rhyme Of The Men Who Proudly Clung To Their First Fault, And Withered In Their Pride.

Death Was Past, Life Not Come: So He Waited.

We Shall March Prospering,-not Thro' His Presence; Songs May Inspirit Us,-not From His Lyre; Deeds Will Be Done,-while He Boasts His Quiescence, Still Bidding Crouch Whom The Rest Bade Aspire.