So many beginnings, and nothing to show for it, words enter, and then fade, leaving not even a shadow's pretense or footprints in a shifting sand. The rhythms of each rite press darkly against my thoughts raining sweat about my ears and itching this chin to laugh. O Johannes, and Ludwig, each understood the measure of a quiet repose intermittent with sacrilage. Could Richard have known any more the crime of his craft had he abandoned tonality altogether or entertained Messiaen-ic plainsong? How much longer these temples stand, than the simple words which fall from my lips, O to be a party to such deviant creation! Wherefore a word's life may only pretend a generation or naught, our precious music might outlast even there these mighty marble monuments.