What matters is not the idea a man holds, but the depth at which he holds it.
This is over my head but underneath my feet… I’m waiting for tonight, then waiting for tomorrow. And I’m somewhere in between what is real and just a dream.
...I started listening to the wolves and the timber, wolves and the timber at night…
I wake in the field with the cold and the lonesome—the moon’s the only face I see
So long, so high….
...Excuse me, are you lost? Perhaps you would care to visit the site map