If the tides of hatred ever crashed, over my heart with such ferocity, that I cannot swim or dry off their lasting affects therein. Then I will quit this concrete race to the death, and die on my own terms further within. Though my only friend be this inland wind. Somewhere there where the spray of a freshwater fray, is more friendly to me than a million duplicitous greetings beside. And so away from the edge of the earth I fly.