Recession into the lofty inspiration of all things yields a new reading of self-sacrifice that craves more attention than I dare to present. Craft-work in the Devil's hand is unbound through endless taunts felt through my spine. Inspiration runs deep in my thoughts and extends in the drippings of sold souls. An image of an idea beyond conception is all that appears. So, it will be described in full detail:
A white desk door presents an answer that is lukewarm in taste. Our head is turned as a struggle shows, between a cat and a mouse. The mouse is determined to manipulate the cat, which has fallen in love with the mouse. This creates confusion on the kitchen-top dance-floor that is used to scribe their actions through parliament. Nevertheless, their eyes widen when the answer spills gently into their minds. Then, great disappointment follows the grave, where there is but only a gray toned woman quietly weeping for the loss of the question.
And, eternity is to blame for the cursed causes of the end to all strife. Yet, with the bitterly sour milk that comrade cat and mouse both gently suckle, there is something.
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