Why won’t you raze, with me, the Mountains of Man? 

O’, my love, if only you could see the state of our impiety. 



It bubbles through the impotence of our rage and of our love. 

As we make mockeries of union our deviance is consummated.

O’, it should be plain to see how we raise our petty banners in defiance 

of the purity that lies within. 



If only we were to see that all that we hold dear shall all disintegrate one day. 

It’s naught but stone and silver. 



And so I go to travel t’wards the setting sun, 

the chariot awaits beneath its glow. 

Sat astride the wings of Icarus, 

I know no place to go but westward bound to make it so. 



It’s all over, my dear. 

I only wish that I could stay, but really, there’s no other way that this could be. 

Unless you save yourself. 

But you wouldn’t… 

Would you? 



Why won’t you fly with me? 

Imagine what we’d be if you could only listen to the heartbeat of the trees, 

and the sigils of the earth, 

the invisible and endless hum of life from since the Word was spoke. 

Why won’t you listen to me? 

Is it so fractal that it lacks a sense a clarity for you? 



“O’, what are we to do? 

O’, what are we to do, my love?" 



O’, see how Babylon has fallen! 

O’, bear witness to the Mountains of Man! 

O’, bear witness with impunity as The Tower crumbles and falls!



There was a bitterness at heart… 

"Why won’t you fly?" 



For what it’s worth, why would one choose to stay amidst the decay? 

Is it too late for us to change? 

Or are we bound to the dichotomy? 



Paradoxically, this is what it means to be 

between corpus and divinity, 

discordance and serenity, 

if only we were to see that all that we hold dear shall all disintegrate 

as dust unto the winds of change. 



So take me, sweet release! 

I’ve found it’s naught but stone and silver.