Sumptuous of these innate Pompous vigilantes, doth their vile belligerence beckon death. Avast ye beaten barren boisterous vermin, tis but at thus no more than a bunch of wearily laden distain that you try to escape. Art thou destined to fail, art thou not broken? Doth not understand what state you're in at the moment. As much as I would like seeing suffer at the hands of the mercy less. Your endless reckless desperate cling to live another day is quite inspiring. If roles were reversed I cannot say I would have taken deaths hand long ago. At some point you may realize that this hope of yours is perilous and pointless. For thou has found yourself in the depths of hell. Once your in you can never get out. Is this the end? Things seem to me to be pointing that way. But I can't say I haven't been wrong before.