⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀love you all⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠳⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠤⢒⡋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⠲⢄⣀⠀⠀⣰⢻⡤⠤⠤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠋⡤⣖⠊⠉⠙⣶⠄⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠧⣎⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡸⠁⢠⠳⡄⠀⠘⡆⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣴⣶⣤⣤⣤⣧⣤⣿⣔⡋⠀⢱⠀⠀⢳⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⣛⠉⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄⠀⠀⣞⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠟⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠖⠀⢸⠁⠀⢸⠀⢠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⡜⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠆⣉⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⡏⠀⠀⢸⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢨⠆⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⡀⠀⢧⣀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣿⣟⢃⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⠛⠁⣠⣾⣽⡟⣁⠠⠀⠀⠲⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⠀⠀⢠⢋⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣁⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠒⠒⢤⠔⢁⣀⠀⠀⠀⢐⣾⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣠⢃⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠋⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢶⣏⠉⠉⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡳⢁⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠚⠻⢭⣙⡯⠁⠙⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠿⢿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⢉⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡱⢡⠏⠈⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠚⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠀⣀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡳⢡⣿⣶⠀⠀⣠⠟⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠳⢄⡀⣀⡠⠔⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⣼⣿⣿⡟⠹⣞⣩⠵⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⡜⢹⣿⠭⢾⡀⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⡞⠉⠁⠀⢀⣀⡤⢶⣚⣯⠟⢸⠏⠀⠀⠀⣇⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠑⢦⡙⠶⢖⣫⠭⠖⠮⣉⢙⠎⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣖⢰⣲⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠉⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⠏⢠⣋⠙⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⢃⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠚⠘⠀⠀⣹⣿⣻⠿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⣰⠃⠀⠑⠦⣈⠳⢄⡀⠘⡄⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣔⡚⠉⢻⠃⠀⢀⣠⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢦⡉⠲⣧⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣞⠀⠉⢣⢸⣦⡶⠟⠉⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⡴⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠤⠤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠽⠯⠵⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⡰⠃⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⠛⡏⠚⢁⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠚⢾⣿⡿⠛⠉⣠⠼⣻⠿⠤⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠙⢧⠀⠀⡗⠇⣠⢞⡵⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣤⣼⣤⡴⢖⣺⠕⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

I journeyed, long in walking, far beyond the place of stopping
Where there was no more returning to the people I had known.
I saw the world forgotten, where the grass gives up on growing
And I knew that I would never make another journey home.

Upon that fleshy plain, below the final rock outcropping
Stretched the vast and empty desert of the hungry, bleeding thing
Encompassing the earth to the horizon, all-consuming,
Crying in a thousand voices to its desolate god-king.

And the music of its crying, never dead, ever dying,
Sent me running in a madness I can scarce compare to fear,
Not to safety, but to silence - unto my own unmaking.
And yet now, upon awaking, once again the song I hear.

I long to taste the fruit of earth, I long for water quenching
Of my thirst, unending, nothing that remains can satisfy.
For my voice has joined the chorus ever more, ever mourning.
Ever singing, ever hungry. Ever dying, never die.