I am but a powerless cog of destiny against the insurmountable atomic sunrise.
After the winter there was forty days of night pierced occasionally by a whimper from a stranger.
The steel coffin peeled open, my eyes calloused anew
my skin still suckling the tubes.
We found a way to make men ageless, horrible, dastardly men like me
and to what glorius end did we use such finger in the candle technology?
Well... now you know.
In another five hundred days I will have performed my third miracle.
"walk"
Another five hundred years and I may forget my name
but never what I had done, or how this lazarus had came to be.
40 summers of darkness
on a planet who's only wish is to hijack its orbit, and sail straight into the sun.
A miserable planet, ruled by a miserable codger.
Writing in the snow dunes, as another blizzard washes it all away.
