No man nor woman hath doth the stomach to bare me hence.
There is no quarter and no relent for this lowly word-smith from the hounds of malicious design.
My gravitas ist forbouten in these times.
There is no wisdom and no emotion for this sacrificial chess piece of the ages.
No ear can hear these bold cries of reclamation.
No eye can see of the teachings on the page.
I am the solitary torch-flame blowing wildly late into the night.
My gravitas ist forbouten in these lands.
These be but the paths we tread in these days of electric night skies.
These be but the methods we indulge in this time of amplifications and misrepresentations.
Tiny truths and intangible everlasting wisdom, I would deny to thee.
For the value is wasted in a world as thus.
Reality be not a kind mistress, and I dare not parley only to reveal that all lies in ruin.
The flames that drive this furnace burn too hot for mass consumption.
My gravitas ist forbouten to thee.
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