The webs we wove to ward off wondering wanderers wanting what was withheld by one wondrous machine now wore off, waning with the wind, wasting with the weeks, weakened by the wrestlessness of a wretched mind. Yet I perservere, through the tireless and ceaseless ticks of the clock, every clock, bent on my destruction and the eventual fizzling out of my fire. Lit with the intent of burning you all.