Enter this room — storms of fear. We are all victims of our own exploitation. Nevermore, the sun will persist. Nevermore, we will stride to exist. Dreams are blackened by shadows unaware. Souls left wandering in the midst of despair. We are all mortals, therefore, we die. Terror is a representation, a mirror to cast a reflection that, be it as it may, our innocence defines. And be it as it may, our sovereignty confines. Life is ephemeral. Death is eternal — perpetual — infinite — the riddance of pain — heroin in the vein.