“What are spoken words but foolishness, hanging densely in the empty air, like smoke in a humid place?
What is faith but childish pretense, filling the void within our souls that we ourselves created?
What is love but food for the weak, satisfying our appetite for desire until our hearts rumble yet again?
What is hope but a mere illusion, emerging from the most desperate of men to shatter reality and defy time?
What is life but a fruitless existence, driven by greed and passion, until we can no longer be considered alive?
What is pride but an inherent fault, destroying the virtuous, corrupting the kind, and taunting the faint of heart?
What is remorse but an ostentatious facade, appearing only when one is socially obligated?
What is knowledge but an eternal paradox, building our bridges yet burning them to ash?
What is religion but a false sense of security, misleading the masses with oppressive hypocrisy?
What is death but a game against fate everyone is bound to lose?”