There will be nothing to trouble this entanglement with the world, nothing to cut short this disease of life.
Therefore I hurry on, an hour saved is an hour of gold. Our senses go to work according to our desires; our store of deserts throws us back into the womb.
Let us burn up all the seeds to make the cowherd our own.
Therefore I hurry on, an hour saved is an hour of gold. Our senses go to work according to our desires; our store of deserts throws us back into the womb.
Let us burn up all the seeds to make the cowherd our own.