The Priests And The Scientists

Maybe Next Time, But Probably Not.

Two Weeks Until Your Cure" She Says Finally. "sixteen Days" I Say, But In My Head I'm Counting: Seven Days. Seven Days Until I'm Free And Away From All These People And Their Sliding Superficial Lives Brushing Past One Another Gliding, Gliding, Gliding From Life To Death. For Them There's Hardly A Change Between The Two.

His Secret Name, Which Belongs To Me, And To Him, And To No One Else.

The Priests And The Scientists Are Right About One Thing: At Our Heart, At Our Base, We Are No Better Than Animals.

If You Cross A Line And Nothing Happens, The Line Loses Meaning.