It shall be stumbled on today, that I come across this peddle that Spoke to me. Never before on this Day was this here, why, say, weren't I too Low? So it may be so. Will I ever escape? So it may be soon. Nostalgia rings in either ear. Of what can I say that will do this justice? Hath it not be writhed with scorn and doubt, Unknown to All? But of course, so are the Conditions. It is large and encompassing, no? It is breath so clean, yes? What of its cryptic nature? This displeases me. There is no vigor there over, None of this quality you seek. And yet, you linger, why is this? Could there be capacity for breakthrough? Why, but of course! But here? Let us not be foolish. For this is where dead men lie, helpless they remain. Squirm as you may to this reality, yet so the same, it be as it may.. And so I wander. And soon, this clarity revisits me. Can you not see that the beauty is still here? No, it never will be, not until it is complete. So, the reality remains: I leave all that does not have this. For of what is the use?