Gallic nights on the lanes out of hamlets, bleak trek through Italian hills, misunderstandings when voices collide, hunger in hallways where you the only soul are give birth to the verse herein. others different sights beheld, they may new meanings glean. to their souls soothe they ballads wrote, smote their breast in loud oration. they play the wild music, they live on the earth, their souls, though, don't belong in the hands of this life or the words of its song, they all are but see - through for me. and they deemed their deeds right even when they did wrong, I could only nearly belong when I was early in the world.