Let there be songs to fill the air.

The storyteller makes no choice, soon you will not hear his voice, his job is to shed light, and not to master

Comes a Time when the blind man takes your hand says DON'T YOU SEE?

Sit back picture yourself swooping up a shell of purple with foam crests of crystal drops soft nigh they fall unto the sea of morning creep-very-softly mist...and then sort of cascade tinkley-bell like (must I take you by the hand, every so slowly type) and then conglomerate suddenly into a peal of silver vibrant uncomprehendingly, blood singingly, joyously resoundingbells....By my faith if this be insanity, then for the love of God permit me to remain insane.

Inspiration, move me brightly, light the song with sense and color, hold away despair

Crippled but free, I was blind all the time I was learning to see.

Sometimes we live no particular way but our own