Walking without armor amongst men with swords for tongues I find that this conception of what our lives really mean to be malleable. So let the new debasers trample the works of Des Cartes and Thoreau in a desperate attempt to justify their own uselessness. Et tu, Brute? Who once stood by my side and smiled? Maybe as I spit my last breath there will be clarity and the "Straight Path" will be revealed. Et tu, Brute?