Composed within the confines of an early morning caffeine binge. Listening to Draconian all night inspired most of the 'Olde English' used. Any mistakes should be drawn to my attention. Ye woeful insults feel thyself sublime to coalesce within Thine position of modest apathy is none without fright To lie therein is to not see the apostasy within thy shell But it is what fills thy void. The abstraction of discomfort is what blindeth thee To lie within feeling, the realization of prevalence is met One does not bow to any other for they coalesce as one Ye, pain carries the face of pleasure. From where is little known the face of fear is met The delusion of impossibility poisons thee To coagulate our pleasures they must be seen to all Within all feeling lies the mighty wind of singularity. To all beauty, blindness only answers Leaveth out all wants and woes For lack of sight leads us to where we need to be Down ye path of sweet modesty, the heart shall stumble. One end can never meet with itself To follow questions only to seek answers The mean is nothing to thee For without a path, where would thy road lead?