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when words lose meaning; all things trivial and trite, you'll find me riding the same old waves. never wilting with age and to the fool i pay homage; a moment's bliss to be like them, yet, he who accosts me in the night, that i might blunder and forfeit the weight of conviction that keeps me pursuing dreams not wrought from human hands and playing tunes that touch the core of one's being. you can have your ways and with it, each particular woe i'll not suffer a moment for, lest i fuel your complacency and then become just like you. says the passerby: "never you chastise a man who's ways are not your own."

some say the warbringer. in repose!; a caustic harbinger! like choking down the petals of a hemlock. asphyxiating like the shrieks of a saint struck down in her prayers. the callers casting shadows- a- mile- high. O shrill death, Thanatos, spare us the journey.