A mere flickering shadow of innocence is engulfed by a tidal wave of abominations.
Although I have been stolen from the wings of the elements, I perceive salvation in the face of eternal execution, as the sound of the bubbling brook cheerfully communicates to the Mare Tranquillitatis.
Oh, cratered regions of death – your guise is blatant, and I have not yet eaten.
So, I bow in humble acknowledgement of such treasures of frivolity, and consider the aroma of baked apples.
How magnetic is this attraction?