As Above

Grady McMurtry

Live your life, nor seek to know

Why scream the dead. The grass will grow

Luxuriantly, taste of love

And trouble not for knowledge, glove

Your senses with the wine of Pan,

Let him lead you where he can

Through woodland to the bacchanal,

There hide you from the fetid pall

Of reason. He who binds

The secret of arcanum finds

That which is truth, and which its foe

And he must live yet must he know

Why scream the dead below—below—

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