A Halloweeny incoherence cautions reading assumptions from or into things, a creative nightmare loosens the reader from adult imperative.
Trembling they stand while Jove assumes the throne.
Ah! they were grand days, those deep, full days, when our coming life, like an unseen organ, pealed strange, yearnful music in our ears, and our young blood cried out like a war-horse for the battle.
I'm not sure if I can do this, truth be told.
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