Suppose you were the last one left? Suppose you did that to yourself?

I felt early on I wasn't going to be a respectable citizen.

In the nights sometimes now he'd wake in the back and freezing waste out of softly colored worlds of human love, the songs of birds, the sun.

People complain about the bad things that happen to em that they don't deserve but they seldom mention the good. About what they done to deserve them things.

All progressions from a higher to a lower order are marked by ruins and mystery and a residue of nameless rage.

Suppose you were the last one left? Suppose you did that to yourself?

Men of God and men of war have strange affinities.