Degrade and creaturize that mundane soul.
At his gladſome approach, adown the vaſt ethereal expanſe, opaque, night's roriferous ſhadows glide;
Jesus stode before the debite, and the debite axed him, saynge: Arte thou the kynge of the iwes?
It's only a matter of time before some highfalutin developer builds a huge hotel and ruins the scenery.
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