The breath of an aristocrat is the death rattle of freedom.
The strides of humanity are slow, they can only be counted in centuries.
The stars are scattered all over the sky like shimmering tears, there must be great pain in the eye from which they trickled.
Revolution is like Saturn, it devours its own children.
We are only puppets, our strings are being pulled by unknown forces.
Peace to the shacks! War on the palaces!
