There we were in Cappadocia, by any other name, walking in the old foot paths of the old reverberation through time. Hear the ancient words a story they would make true an agenda already set to hide the all matter to only the few. Deep in the caves hidden away.
You see mind me the trespass, the council session from then till now were predetermined behind closed doors, but meander there in the room and glean their true thoughts. Through action and deed not a word do they heed, no truths told, no good deed. Old family lines should start to plead. While I say to you this I do mean from the council of Nicene to your local city council all to the council of great nations they be, predetermined until they are not.
You have to go back to the very old ways, so mote it be.
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