Paths do not exist any longer since they have left together with the forces strengthened by the sound of the rage the last ones of those who stood against ill intentions
what is left are the black faults of the ruler of those wallowing in the repulsive mess grasping thin air and thumbling in an ecstatic spin
the whirlpool has thrown up the people of the mus the corrupted together with the forget-machine and it spun into an active mass of curses on its shores filled with bright emptiness
and they never realized that danger has a face, nose and ears.