All bowmen are caught between heaven and earth, born to discovery, choosing to love and raise their eyes high to a future that is apparent only through the strength of their hope.

Heroes do not dwell in a time of peace; heroes are hardened in a kiln against the sorrows. Their troubles sharpen the blade and make it gleaming. The glint becomes a brightness that is raised high on a hill, allowing women and men to see beyond themselves. For light swallows darkness. Truth buries death. Heroes are not born. They are filled by Music.

Tears are another river that takes us home. We become alive with tears. There isn't a chance to return to sleep when we are weeping.

We love against the night, burning like stars against the darkness of bread and circuses.

The happiness in our hearts is there for we dare to dream in light when the world tells us to scream in the darkness.

Though we cannot see the heart, we can see the life.

All bowmen are caught between heaven and earth, born to discovery, choosing to love and raise their eyes high to a future that is apparent only through the strength of their hope.