It is suicide to be abroad. But what it is to be at home, ... what it is to be at home? A lingering dissolution.
How time flies when one has fun!
Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.
Where you have nothing, there you should want nothing.
Enough to know no knowing.
We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener.