we invented and perfected the idiosyncrasies of the odd art, we are odd and we are not
but are the vibrant dread, a constant antithesis of all we should be, we are alive truly yet floaters in a world we did not design and we deign to love
the universe of our creation we are forced out of by the necessities of those who have and always will persecute that which they know not of and all are naught to understand