So let the rage continue an unabated. May the heated torrents lick the walls and pain faces with the scorches that held their passing. They have no solemn purpose, but the nature of their ways. For the land behind they is desolate, and the path before them fueled by hunger. Despite the horse cries of the innocent, there is no means for mercy, no capacity to care. there only lies a purpose, and a means. So rage on, and make this world anew.
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