The world is open, the world is free, you could have been anything you wanted to be, seen every place you wanted to see. You need not crawl and break your knee. Don't break your knee. You could have stolen the key from Peter's hands and brought your tyrants down. It could have been beauty, not burders and coils, the gallows and the bloody soils, the unmarked graves, sharpened knives, the prison cells and broken livse. You speak in moans and sighs and your towers collapse as you reach the sky. You have become death, destroyer of worlds, with no sanctuaries in your netherworld, where your churches and havens are monuments to fear. Monoliths of the doom in your heart and soul. So in the end, for there is an end, when you shudder a sigh, bent and broken, worn out and worn down, you'll ask yourself: 'what have we gained?' Three worlds will answer you: soot, smoke, ash.
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