The stage was full these past months, the characters upon it, those reading now and those not yet, became my belief. Their spirits have been noticed by me, they danced like mad, the dance of the spirit intertwined with one another. How long have I been the next one, evermore? What prize is offered to the one answering the eternal question, breath, hope, knowledge, virtue, contentment, love, or are they just more questions? Have I angered them with my fear of the truth? (Maybe I asked the question one should only imagine?) Jesus, you aren’t just tired, you’re completely spent from thousands of years of lies told about you and the pain and suffering of your belief of love which carried you away to haunt the earth with your righteous plea… Humankind, end this eternity of warring for what can only be imagined. Bring to an end this hemorrhage of your frenzy of questions that only serve to drench your mask with an unknowable wish. The ideas of truth have fallen to their thankless
(The Weaver's Song)