"I have not worked hard enough. I have overlooked your infirmary. Let us return to exile and to slavery."

He said I was unlucky, that I was too innocent. His reasons, morbid as they were, rang strangely true.

Ashamed, I insulted him, I mocked him, I gazed out the window and created extravagant phantoms he could scarcely imagine on his own.

My rare music hinted at the secret of the dark countryside, its rolling hills, the murky bay, the moon a mere sliver in the sky.

Exhausted from my labor, I would lie down on my pallet and no sooner asleep when my poor brother would rise...

...wickedly dragging me half-conscious into his room as he howled his imbecilic sorrows.

I swore to restore him to his primitive state, truthfully I did! We were nourished by the sun, wine, and begged-for biscuits.

We wandered; we were impatient to find the place and the secret.

- Vagabonds