For emulation has a thousand songs that one by one pursue. Running! Falling! Vomiting forth cobras enamoured of fire escapes! If you give way, or hedge aside from the direct forthright, like to an enter tide, they all wash by, and leave you hindmost
One could pass valuable hours - perhaps days - doing nothing but hanging by one's earlobes, strung by a thin white-hot wire, burning with ecstasy. Up through eternity and further, I myself have often succumbed. Knowing not of brown white or dim high stone... (fades into music)
