A flame cannot burn with no fuel to ignite nor can you read by a candle that has not been set to light and the brightest of flames cannot clear the sight of primitive souls still fearful of Night The Night is not the only fear of those whom drive yet refuse to steer blind to all that they dont want to hear littering the Path that others made Clear Coveting nothing engenders no fear for the only things lost are the one we hold dear through times of disorder famine and war; in his new modern age no one is ever too far for only the Realm of the Dead erases the scar