Everyone, alone in their room, so many lives, all records of a life a god dared to live, so much greatness to be found in each of us, bear the world or let it go, always just right, within this jar, the right formula, for a life fulfilled, looking down on others, everywhere I look, is a deity who looked at me, recorded their opinion, and left, not caring, so many deep wells, I don’t dare to peak, each a universe, with their own personality, dreams and defenses, so many great beasts, and ingenious spirits, I'm just a turtle in my shell, maybe one day a great spirit will rouse me from my sleep, I’ll explore dialogue options, and discover who I could have been, alas I’m just a poor poet, filled with ghosts and spirits, a puppet on a string, for the heavens, and the stars in the sky, I don’t like it, but there is still life to live, only content to move as designed, bearing sin, content with my prison, and not really daring to dream, so many delusions, and so many diseases, what does a universe need, just to earn his food, pay, and eat…

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