Man's Greed and Envy

Man's greed and envy are so great. Man's greed and envy are so great. He'll go to any length or date to beat down his fellow man, if beat him down he can. Though under dread he cower, he'll do it in the name of power, that obvious that visible success prove to the world his canyness.

And let Christ go, let truth hang, praise the fang in the tooth, force life through like a bawling youth, the truant animal in action. Praise to the thinkers and the dreamers, those dear quaint saintly creatures.

They evade the blood to build the brain. Philosophic men who loved the sun. If I could only live at the pitch that is near madness, If I could only live at the pitch that is near madness, when everything is as it was in my childhood, violent, vivid, and of infinite possibility, that the sun and the moon broke over my head.

Then I cast time out of the trees and fields. Then I stood immaculate in the ego. Then I eyed the world with all delight. Reality was the perfection of my sight, and And time has big handles on the hands, fields and trees away of being themselves.

I saw battalions of the race of mankind standing stolid, demanding a moral answer. I gave the moral answer and I died, and into a realm of complexity came, where nothing is possible but necessity, and the truth wailing there like a red babe.

I walked out to the graveyard to see the dead. I walked out to the graveyard to see the dead. The iron gates were locked. I couldn't get in. A golden pheasant on the dark fur bows looked with fearful method at the sunset.