I surrender to the sound of idleness... To the predecessor of penned paper. My fine point offers no salvation from your nothingness; the ink runneth dry, unto a full-stop - threefold - my tongue teaches no testimony of your truth and trap.

No words nor worlds wherein the wide wealth of your wonders, resides; lo language and land lend and law borders, to you, the Chaotic and Disorder. Toss then them aside!