I divine your nemesis. Your inability to stand the 
breakdown of your cynical, absurdly falling opus, Taken 
out of your own hands. About to choke relicts of hope, 
about to lose control over those that Shall remain your 
ancient charade. Free and yet caged it prospers in 
disguise. Too old to suffer, Too young to fall apart but 
doomed in every slice. Facing the nature of loss, 
confronting the noise With eternal silence, becoming the 
fiend is salvation. As long as the prophet will fall. 
Condemned to Fail, I conclude that nothing shall remain. 
Condemned to go down, condemned to fail.