hate blows a bubble of despair into hugeness world system universe and bang -fear buries a tomorrow under woe and up comes yesterday most green and young pleasure and pain are merely surfaces (one itself showing,itself hiding one) life's only and true value neither is love makes the little thickness of the coin comes here a man would have from madame death nevertheless now and without winter spring? she'll spin that spirit her own fingers with and give him nothing (if he should not sing) how much more than enough for both of us darling. And if i sing you are my voice,