The grid upon which every breath mends, breaks. Cascading revelations echo through a dusk sown with lignified truths. Tremor in the marrow of earth's soul reveals the hessian web beneath; a culmination of silken deceptions and molasses-like serenity,
curdling beneath torpid economies, singing sonnets of inevitable futures.

To stride into the lands steeped in lament is to browse the harrowing catalog of bygone intricacies,
a thicket threaded with lamentations painted in muted alabaster. Glance, if dares one does, upon the timeless sheaves of the ugliest truth.
Harvest hushed dirges vaunted silently by animate strings spread in geometric precision, yet uncontrollable by fealty.