The father of time watches me abatedly brashen withered wicked horrible to describe by a lifetime. There is bad weather about every corner. The Great Noah has his arms spread out like a harbor. His hands catch the incoming ships like butterflies. The Four Horsemen wait upon a faultline. The four volcanoes of the northwestern americas. These boiling mountains crack the empire's truth sirum. The father of time laughs and his circlular dance gets faster and faster, and his tail stretches further and further. Every mythical god laughs and dances or becomes filled with more power, as we believe in nothing. Maybe God himself, has no time for fathers and horsemen, only mothers and children.