When in the middle of the night, surrounded by nothing but dirt, ashes, decay, dust, and death...all there is to do is despair. Despair of human thought, human course, and human kind. When shambles are all around and the looking glass is harsh, but true, what else to do?
A work of entropy, a master's plan, and futile effort to reverse it.
I decide to be a man of futile effort and hope.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
All ye who enter here.