Three fishers went sailing away to the west,/ Away to the west as the sun went down.

Every Winter, When the great sun has turned his face away, The earth goes down into a vale of grief, And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables

Fishers of fish and fishers of men.

The world we suggest is a new wild west. A sensuous evil world. Strange and haunting, the path of the sun…

The yellow stars I have worn on three coats in Europe prevented that from happening,

There are two freedoms - the false, where a man is free to do what he likes; the true, where he is free to do what he ought.