Dead. Dead as the twigs around us. Dead as the Sun, and Dead as the Moon, is how we appear. Dead, bored, and waiting for reason. Life is but a bore, yet in Death we Dream, even if we dream unclothed. Life may be a shadow, but I know death is but the darkness veiled in beauty, and most beauty rarely escape the lens of Love. But to be in Love with such a lustful images, is to play on Mans easiest string. Lust no doubt, but upon this thought, We of the Garden now Admire both admissions. The Twigs, and the Beauty they brought forth. Both are welcomed in the Anariarchs Garden.