Standing at the edge of everlasting anesthesia, unbound by the laws of Neanderthals' and mortal men, shedding the cord of echoes grasping the soul. A singular blue vein glowed in the dust motes dancing beneath the fluorescents, pulsing in...

Mais, listen cher, when de cool breeze blow,An' de river's runnin' kinda slow, Dat's de time, I tell you wit' a grin, When deoyster squeezin' fun begin!Put down dat fricassee, ya hear? Grab dat ice chest full o' beer!...

...life is a field of wheat gathered, as the seeds remember mother earth, by hands that understand each stalk,a memory bound in sheaves, but not for the scythe's,chinny chin chin.