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Sooner the repast of days long lost doth a petty people regard their fate at last… in the dim light of fawning dawn comes wisdom too late.
Why comes the Harold of peace and glory to the stage no more; whose faithful voice will now resound with the clarion call of hope and a better day? Look no more to the halls of justice, too the lackeys call… no more to the captains of our liberty, for they are now long-buried… and hollow is their memory… among our citizens.

Nay, the reaper waits to thrust in his cycle one last time... to draw out the remaining men of steel to seed another generation… Look not to the right nor the left for thy help; there is no repast for the despot's hand has bought them all… all, in the land. A terrible price was paid by greater men than thee, for thy liberty... Thus, the Lord now commands: Go My children to a better place, where harbors long seeded wait for thee. Too, those with an eye to see and an ear to hear, I say too America ado… ado.

Sing now the song of sorrows long… for the widows do and look now to thy child for it needs you… Peace for the wise rests in more than the lies… it is anchored in the knowledge of God’s certain voice…. in the delight of His eternal promise is found the Faithfull’s repast… their sweet delight and a better day.

Think long upon these somber words… for in them are the alchemy of tomorrow's day.