I once owned a stable in Whitfield. It was an extraordinary sight to see.
one that causes sore eyes and a shine in the buck teeth of many lesser men.
Ones unworthy of such a sight. I painted it gold.
I used a stand to exemplify it's beauty.
I once foresaw it's destruction.
I was vain then. I rarely leaked paranoia.
Now it erodes the calm thoughts through thick gushes of sweat.
A king was killed there. I praise the day it happened.
I worship an action, a moment, a time.
'tis not a flaw in my logic
but a kink in life's armor.
I worship a time, a day, an hour, a second.
an idea, a symbol.
but today does not.
I hail destruction and despise order.
Anarchy is not my game
but the source of my fame.
I am the first knight.
REFORM
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