Upon the path of the lesser knowing, wind chill roaming and icicles forming, the whores are out tonight.
Beyond the realm of reason, insanity rules the world, with the false and the fake and the great pretenders, prayers for guidance are heard.
The sole survivor ponders and preys upon the weak, the lame, the rotten and the stink, the shadows of solitude are real.
With a sigh, and without hope, I close the door and weep.
