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Originally published on February 6, 2014, on Tumblr.

“Why do I love” You, Sir?
The Wind does not require the Grass
To answer—Wherefore when He pass
She cannot keep Her place.

Because He knows—and
Do not You—
And We know not—
Enough for Us
The Wisdom it be so—

The Lightning—never asked an Eye
Wherefore it shut—when He was by—
Because He knows it cannot speak—
And reasons not contained—
—Of Talk—
There be—preferred by Daintier Folk—

The Sunrise—Sire—compelleth Me—
Because He’s Sunrise—and I see—
I love Thee—
—Emily Dickinson

We Live Again by Beck

These withered hands
Have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand
And leftover nightmares
Over the hill
A desolate wind
Turns shit to gold
And blows my soul crazy
The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end
O hungry days
The footsteps of fools
Gazing alone
Through sex-painted windows
Dredging the night
Drunk libertines
Stink like a colognes
From the newfangled wasteland
The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end
Love is a plague
In a mix-match parade
Where the castaways look so deranged
When will the children learn
To let their wildernesses burn
And love will be new never cold and vacant
These withered hands have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares
The end
Of the end
We live again