Mankind has inherited mindliquid that fills your veins. 
Everything is written, that's why we're stupid. 
We choose answers from another ones. 
We get bored. We suicide. We embrace neglect. 
You can keep imaging. I converge. 
Let's see the bookburner, a pleasure for you. 
To whom was that page read? Fire, read it. 
Broken schemes, ended life. The more irresponsible, the 
happier. 
Restored verses of ink that is running out. 
We ride our chariot in confussion. 
Dealing with eternity. 
Dealing with the unknown. 
The city of emptiness has an order. 
Everything is written, that's why we're here. 
Art is madness. And madness is an art. 
“While we're alive, she doesn't exists. 
In her embodiment rests our end.”