It's curious how events go about showcasing that the object of such desire has turned into - no, has always been nothing but a corrupt form of that which you've always longed for. Something which has gone so basically sour that it seems beyond all possible attempts of salvage.

So what will the world of tomorrow bring? Remembrance and regret, of all lost to a floundering and sweaty grip?

It's amusing, I find, how people believe I play them. I do not. I never have. I think that's true.

Veiled faces staring,
a man quickly learning the steps
of the hangman's jig,
as he hangs by the grace of God
and Pride