The Nearest To My Heart Are A

You Are The Bows From Which Your Children As Living Arrows Are Sent Forth.

We Are The Sons Of Sorrow; We Are The Poets And The Prophets And The Musicians.

I Have Found Both Freedom And Safety In My Madness; The Freedom Of Loneliness And The Safety From Being Understood, For Those Who Understand Us Enslave Something In Us.

If I Accept The Sunshine And Warmth, Then I Must Also Accept The Thunder And Lightning.

But Memory Is An Autumn Leaf That Murmurs A While In The Wind And Then Is Heard No More.