When A Man Takes The Road To

Watchful Are The Gods Of All Hands With Slaughter Stained. The Black Furies Wait, And When A Man Has Grown By Luck, Not Justice, Great, With Sudden Overturn Of Chance They Wear Him To A Shade, And, Cast Down To Perdition, Who Shall Save Him?

For Somehow This Is Tyranny's Disease, To Trust No Friends.

The People's Awe And Innate Fear Will Hold Injustice Back By Day, By Night, So Long As The People Leave The Laws Intact, Just As They Are: Muddy The Cleanest Spring, And All You'll Have To Drink Is Muddy Water.

My Will Is Mine...i Shall Not Make It Soft For You.

Do Not Kick Against The Pricks.