In this world of men, we ogres walk
Mostly peaceful in this prosy age,
Less strange than fact.
But no matter how far we thunder
It is less with each step, darker:
We are the last.
Mostly peaceful in this prosy age,
Less strange than fact.
But no matter how far we thunder
It is less with each step, darker:
We are the last.
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It's nothing.
Well, it's always something.
Which, in turn, makes it nothing.