We march and fight to death or on to victory. Our might is right no traitors shall prevail. Our hearts are steeled against the fiery gates of hell. No shot or shell can still our mighty song.

The car has become the carapace the protective and aggressive shell of urban and suburban man.

It's been such a deep and amazing journey for me getting close to John Keats and also I love Shelley and Byron. I mean the thing about the Romantic poets is that they've got the epitaph of romantic posthumously. They all died really young and Keats the youngest of them all.

The best artist has that thought alone Which is contained within the marble shell The sculptor's hand can only break the spell To free the figures slumbering in the stone.