Here at the edge of this world
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God. . .
Then God is not dead
i can no longer suffer the distractions of music.
there is no spell to perform requiring focus of ritualistic repitition of sound waves, they are but a diversion of the mental focus necessary to examine lifes preponderances.
my vinyl collection is a burden of memories.
alas i grieve for yesteryear...