Mayhem in barracks again, the Knight of Cups is renowned for his fury, as the Baron to fall on his sword, and the Scorpion to turn on itself. The sands of time are running low. To us, loss means nothing, for it has long become our everything. So we can only watch in silence when Earth rises against Man and quells the species in all its degenerate generations. You cannot understand, you may loathe, and rebel, but we have already and know the futility. That is why we are here again and again, with you, yet astride, pariahs eternal. Here with you, in this hell of fractured light. When you lose everything, including your own self, then you shall see us, beg for us to listen, to show mercy. You shall ask us to kill you, but we shall not. For we would again be shorn of company. There is no greater damnation than being alone in this forsaken place. Or so we thought! At least we deserve to be here and readily admit our countless failings. We accept our fate and pray for strength to bear the punishment we deserve.  There's nothing else. And we accept that too, in life, in death, and our timeless perpetuity.