Passing the cemetary walls, stone by stone groping in celestial wilderess. He fell maybe a thousand times from beyond the clouds and set out for a quest of the astraied time that could barely escape far away and let drift itself in the air. Fiery face scorched his artless ideas of mind composure, and he still keeps paddling through the wide land of unrealized dreams, on his steed’s back. He damned his forsaken conscience which he has never had as he’d lose it in the final shout of war anyway. This is Ritus Orgy, on the way through the night … Victory or disappointment - who shall decide, he walks on and on after all. Although he’d hardly fell his own disgrace with his feeble arm. This is Ritus Orgy, on the way through the night, there he parts from with no return. Across the hostile rivers and swamps he feels something latent in the wind, but he’s unsable to descry the flickering flame of the dark Heresy. Someone’s concealed it into the depths of mountains, so the one could revere and safeguard his kin. And so he carried on standing rigidly on the edge of the lake, and covertly watching distant horizons reflected in the surface of the lake, to tap where the brought tidings of the end will come from. Only one wish to have - just or a while to be transfered unto the depths of kingdom - where the primitive principle rules; that states of the Earthly reality that’s totsllx different. After all he knows what it’s like, drunk he penetrates through the vital-affording yet grudging water onward the opposite shore where he could get off his burden. Really ??? Dead !!!