Without grace there is no hope, but with it there is no shortage.

Some men live their lives terrified. Terrified of the night and all that is dark. I will live my life eternally in fear of the light of day.

For most men, time moves slowly, oh so slowly, they don't even realize it. But time has revealed itself to me in a very special way. Time is a rushing, howling wind that rages past me, withering me in a single, relentless blast, and then continues on. I've been sitting here passively, submissive to its rage, watching its work. Listen! Time, howling, withering!

They tried stoning me, my dear. It did not work.

Loathesome I am, and evil. You can mock me for that. But leave my pain alone!

I'm a picker, I'm a grinner, I'm a lover and I'm a sinner. I play my music in the sun.

Without grace there is no hope, but with it there is no shortage.