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Biblioklept 
I dreamed I saw St. Augustine | Alive as you or me | Tearing through these quarters | In the utmost misery | With a blanket underneath his arm | And a coat of solid gold | Searching for the very souls | Whom already have been sold
‘Arise, arise’, he cried so loud | In a voice without restraint | ‘Come out ye gifted kings and queens | And hear my sad complaint | No martyr is among you now | Whom you can call your own | So go on your way accordingly | And know that you are not alone’
I dreamed I saw St. Augustine | Alive with fiery breath | And I dreamed I was amongst the ones | That put him out to death | I awoke in anger | So alone and terrified | I put my fingers against the glass | And bowed my heat and cried. from John Wesley Harding.
Good morning rain
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