The Lot Of Man - To Suffer

Drink Is The Feast Of Reason And The Flow Of Soul.

The Season When To Come, And When To Go, To Sing, Or Cease To Sing, We Never Know.

Nor Public Flame, Nor Private, Dares To Shine; Nor Human Spark Is Left, Nor Glimpse Divine! Lo! Thy Dread Empire, Chaos! Is Restored; Light Dies Before Thy Uncreating Word: Thy Hand, Great Anarch! Lets The Curtain Fall; And Universal Darkness Buries All.

Praise Undeserved, Is Satire In Disguise.

The Nicest Constitutions Of Government Are Often Like The Finest Pieces Of Clock-work, Which, Depending On So Many Motions, Are Therefore More Subject To Be Out Of Order.