I so want to immerse myself in soft velvet memories to
Cushion the jaggedness of present truths unwanted
Alas I fear my heart just will not stand the trip whole
I Mourn more than souls tonight I mourn existence ...
Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arms;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.
Ballad of Sir Patrick Spence.