Words are dead. Empty, meaningless sounds inflicting terrible wounds in the transparent, bluish flesh of the air; frozen, nonsensical worm-tracks on a yellowish piece of paper no one remembers having written. They can come to life, though. If uttered again by human lips, if jotted down by feverish, loving, anxious hands, if whispered in the ear of the loved one, if shouted in anger or despair, if sung in languages long gone but never forgotten…. Then, as if by magic, they begin to glow and shed light, light that casts shadows on the things of this world and gives them substance and meaning. Without us, words would be dead…