A tiny buttocks'rfly shall rest on mine own skin asking if 't be true th're's a way to escapeth this

i shall pateth t gently, trying not to breaketh its wings, and just alloweth t caterwauling.

"th're's a raison d'etre deep, deep in thy heart. Thee has't to findeth t, thee might not but findeth t"

The End hasn't come, yet. But it's not like we will allow it to happen.