You're my verity
My balladry, my poetry
The greater in me
Omniscient outline, giving guideline
Living lifeline, rainbows just another sign
Of a propitiation
In an ancient time and place
Where and when love was undeniably in his face
From the sweat that rode across his brow,
Temple, run down his cheek
Over his lip, I say wow
How could he love so deeply?
It had to be quantifiably
Eleven minus three?
That's my dude, see
He had me at my heart in every way
Con cinco palabras only he could say
I am who I am,
And that was all he wrote
Laconic, melodic, the perfect note,
Strumming my frame from each breadth stroke
I'm talking about love
In a white suit coat
In the beginning was the word,
and the word was with?
God.
And the word was?
Love.
Here's Bones being unreasonably nasty to Spock, as he often is:
As soon as Spock challenges Bones' statement about Spock's inability to feel, Bones like "good point, there's that whole thing you have for Jim, my bad". And Spock doesn't even pretend it's not correct, doesn't roll eyes or lift eyebrows or anything, because that is what he meant by the "Really?".
Kirk, lying awake at 2 am: Do you think mankind has overstepped it's boundaries? It feels sometimes like we are fighting a war against our very nature as beings- stuck perpetuating the circle of mistakes and insufficient attempts to fix them.
Spock, also awake: It is unclear, Jim. However, part of what makes your species so admirable is your need to continue that circle- so long as you persevere and continue to fix your mistakes, the imperfections can be discounted. Do you think mankind is so undeserving of the sympathy you so pride yourselves on?
Kirk: Do you think-
McCoy, his pillow over his head: Do you think mankind is ever going to go the fuck to sleep?