I contemplate the decaying force of the forged nature, that i have been forced to admire. None of this is more special then a bitter draft at sunrise. I am just flesh attached to bones that serve no other purpose, other than rotting; The beauty of everything that has ever yearned to be beautyful is just makeup on existentialist dross; I am the bitter taste of gall that circulates in the veins of those who still consider the eternal penitence a godly gift. All your idols are dead, they died in vain, what for? ...Life??????