we ask why the family is better, because the others are not: the water is not, the stock is thicker.
such are the tunes that have been sung: thankless man and creatures who crawl outside the house outside our gates; away from our fences: the mob in bloody reverence.
in this infestation, there are no words found, no blood bound. but hymns and pleasing fiction on their lips: music to the ears; noise to the soul.
but when i have no benefit left of me and less in yours, less for you: that there is little now of you to tug on me that there is little now of you to tug on me.
pale as the white breeze, the eye cannot maketh its crease, the trough, the zennith, the power...it speaks...it reeks...Oh! how it piques my curiosity! how it delves into the nebulous truth of reality, how it