But between our insticts and the lust to kill we bow our heads in submission. While the comet spreads its tail across the sky it nowhere near defines the course it flies, nor does it find its own direction. Though the path of the comet be sure, its constitution is not so its meaning is possibly more than the tracing of a tail in one brief shot at glory. I am unborn. My Name is locked in silence, sometimes it's whispered out of spite.
All gates are locked, all doors are barred and bolted, there is no place for flight.
I am No One. My soul is cast in crystal yet unrevealed beneath the knife. All wells are dry, all bread is masked in fungus and now disease is rife. Too late to smother out the tell-tale footprints which mark your passage through the greying snow.