Down, down, down ye gaze from yon pearlyn balustrade, though by fortune's succor the distance bee vast beyond the scope of thine eyes to encompass the mire of those who live abyssally below. Lo, for thy grace, this Holy Light of Destiny as beset upon thee by thyn Divine Source, you live now in more perfect union with that Glorious Light. Let it not shine, but PIERCE down upon those sunken in what
unmeasurable depths, as a crushing beacon, a token of the impossible distance that thyn holy obscenity has cleft for you alone. Yea, Let them witness as they do lay pelleted by night rain, the spectral glow of your being atop thy Holy Mountain, and know the choice that has become made upon them. It is Ye who wage have come to fortune. Let fortune be your one sacrosanct guide. Let not blood, or flesh, or the spark of the human spirit dissuade you or even to stand beside it, for it is only the Holy Light of fortune which buoys you on high.