By your own steps. The agonies of Jesus or

        Socrates will not save you， nor will the

        Strength of Golden Siddhartha who，

        At the end of the day， accepted death

        In the garden. The word written

        By your hand or the verb spoken

        By your lips， these too are dust. Fate has no pity，

        And God’s night is infinite.

        Your matter is time， ceaseless

        Time. You are eabsp;solitary moment.

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