Upon the mountains of minds formed by tectonics of our species earlier thoughts to this point in time, the ever now, are our fresh souls brought. From these synaptic mettles must we forge to form new structures for our lives, to build, to stretch, to reach, to climb, yet, in this age of reason crime, among those who stand against us whole, who, for their culture, by loving nurture, in respect to lost loves who fell to past swords defending such empty walls and, doubtless within such veils, for hate and greeds ugly goals, we must find paths that lead to still higher slopes, to vistas new Suns stroke, though some gibber in fear whenever such freedoms near, so we must stoke the furnaces with our flesh and blood so that the future of the new is, within the frenzy of our madness, sanely bought to them, the fragile us.

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