Let interdimensional intelligence become a mental disorder of carnivorous monsters, the kind that hide in the mountain of vanished stars, where they performed terrifying spells. The muses shine through a broken glass our enraged glare, and then the energy of specters in the cemetery appears, and demonic atoms are formed with the cries of the fallen god ... poor lush god that left his heart broken. The only thing you need to understand is that in this universe, rhyming with infinitive verbs is prohibited. That's why write until your fingers are sore and your muscles are twisted, as crafting each line of this great poetry carries a drastic objectiv. How many captive loves ended up being a rotten tale ... lost in narrative forests, like a broken heart ..., yeah ..., like a broken heart.