Your god must once have stood at a dawn of infinite possibilities, and this is what he's made of it. You tell me that I want God's love? I don't. Perhaps I want forgiveness, but there's no-one to ask it of. And there's no going back, there's no setting things right, there's only the hope of nothingness.

The wind sounded of Mother Earth's forsaken and abandoned cries.

Men's memories are uncertain and the past that was differs little from the past that was not.

This is what the good guys do. They keep trying. They don't give up

On this road there are no godspoke men. They are gone and I am left and they have taken with them the world.

It had ceased raining in the night and he walked out on the road and called for the dog. He called and called. Standing in that inexplicable darkness. Where there was no sound anywhere save only the wind. After a while he sat in the road. He took off his hat and placed it on the tarmac before him and he bowed his head and held his face in his hands and wept. He sat there for a long time and after a while the east did gray and after a while the right and godmade sun did rise, once again, for all and without distinction.

He can give me what you cannot. Death is not a lover. Oh yes, he is.