| The songs of the drudged refuge the motion of their hearts, though they toil Indicative to their means. Honestly, were all so willing to beckon the wanting disaster that the predecessor has waned in the eyes of those whom dyed-in-the-wool. The songs harmonize in our perfect hearing, the “be all” to our “ends”, and we laugh like children—mad reckless children—left unchecked in the brightest of our days. |