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Search for the answers I knew all along; I lost myself, We all fall down; Never the wiser of what I've become Alone I stand, A broken man... All I have is one last chance. I won't turn my back on you. Take my hand, Drag me down. If you fall, Then I will too. And I can't save what's left of you... (Chorus) Sing something new, I have nothing left. I can't face the dark without you. There's nothing left to lose, The fight never ends. I can't face the dark without you. Swallow me under and pull me apart. I understand; There's nothing left. Pain so familiar and close to the heart; No more no less, I won't forget. Come back down, Save yourself. I can't find my way to you. And I can't bear to face the truth... (chorus) I wanted to forgive; I'm trying to forget; Don't leave me here again. I am with you, forever, the end. (chorus) Holding the hand that holds me down. I forgive you, forget you, the end. Holding the hand that holds me down. I forgive you, forget you, the end. (classical finish) ↗
I say it instead. "You told so," I admit. "You told me my image of Brody wasn't real, and you were right. I was just too blind to see it." He laughs a little. "You were to blind to see a lot of things Princess." It's reassuring when he calls me Princess-as opposed to princess or, worse, Lily. One seems too mocking, the other too intimate. His ironic nickname feels safe. ↗
The question of why evil exists is not a theological question, for it assumes that it is possible to go behind the existence forced upon us as sinners. If we could answer it then we would not be sinners. We could make something else responsible...The theological question does not arise about the origin of evil but about the real overcoming of evil on the Cross; it ask for the forgiveness of guilt, for the reconciliation of the fallen world ↗
We all love best not those who offend us least, nor those who have done most for us, but those who make it most easy for us to forgive them. ↗
A man doesn't have time in his life to have time for everything. He doesn't have seasons enough to have a season for every purpose. Ecclesiastes Was wrong about that. A man needs to love and to hate at the same moment, to laugh and cry with the same eyes, with the same hands to throw stones and to gather them, to make love in war and war in love. And to hate and forgive and remember and forget, to arrange and confuse, to eat and to digest what history takes years and years to do. A man doesn't have time. When he loses he seeks, when he finds he forgets, when he forgets he loves, when he loves he begins to forget. And his soul is seasoned, his soul is very professional. Only his body remains forever an amateur. It tries and it misses, gets muddled, doesn't learn a thing, drunk and blind in its pleasures and its pains. He will die as figs die in autumn, Shriveled and full of himself and sweet, the leaves growing dry on the ground, the bare branches pointing to the place where there's time for everything. ↗
