 Oh, there must be a place with unicorns and firebirds and fairy songs. How other would I have this heart to know and yet not know? Was the world created just for those who no longer remember how it was? Promise me heaven, but I fear that paradise will be a bore, although unawakened joyful over golden streets and angel-made consumer goods. I look into well-meaning eyes and I know that they are heaven bound, but let me wait for heaven to descend and the transfiguration to begin of the earth into a place of myth.