“filth and disgust, hell and fear, with no where to go and nothing to hear, but reflections of hatred, slime and muck, left in the dirt to die and suck, life out of the body, death and memorial, buried alive, stucked and hysterical, with twelve thousand years of putrid loops, only to find warmth in the boots, of another person, gone and mistrusted, facing a misleading cry for lust, and there he whispered.”