LogFAQs > #950354220

Why sit so idle, you poor wretched men? To the ends of the land you should flee.
Leave your homes, leave the heights of your circular fortress,
For neither the head nor the body remains in its place,
Nor the feet underneath, nor the hands nor the middle
Is left as it was, but now all is obscure. For casting it down
Is fire and Ares so sharp on the heels of a Syrian chariot
And he will destroy many cities with towers, and not yours alone;
And into the devouring fire he will give the temples of eternal gods,
Which now drip with sweat and shake in their fear
As blood gushes darkly from the tops of their roofs,
Forseeing the force of compelling disaster.
Now step out of this shrine, and shroud over your heart with the evils to come.

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The web of destiny carries your blood and soul back to the Genesis of my life form.
I never be, I never see, I never know