o, lords of my insignificant psyche,
my will is but that of the gentle breeze,
compared to your strength of mighty stone.
these grey lands were once without purpose,
although rumors abounded they would serve
the hopes and dreams of your antithesis.
i say to you all: i myself was misguided,
thought in all my foolishness to deviate
from the fate you have in your wisdom set
aside for me. therefore i humbly dedicate
this modest shrine, a trifle, to please you.
i am your humble servant,
receptacle of your ever-guiding influence.