The devil’s bargain
We gain ground on our long relentless march towards The Abyss. As every year passes it seemingly passes ever more quickly. The slide into decrepitness accelerates with the momentum and inevitability of gravity herself.
Like the blind we adapt our remaining senses in order to appreciate our existence. To understand what we have lost we reason new meaning in what we have left.
We are leaving - you don’t need us.
And it’s a fair wind, blowin’ warm,
Out of the south over my shoulder,
Guess I’ll set a course and go…
