To encumber our mortal minds, and rapt our decaying bodies.
For we are not eternal creatures, but the product of that which came before us,
Of what we hope becomes of our lives, after we have long gone.
In doing so, we fancy ourselves immortal, in this vast, unforgiving, unfeeling state of our own creation.
Immortal in the hereto from the heretocome, not in flesh, but in soul....
We are all of us, searching for the things that make sense.
Yes, and we are all of us, falling short.