Literature
Via Nonae
Dance, now, within the wind and the waves and the clouds as not enough can save their kin; too many lave in blame, begging mercy for sin, but still they sin, hiding in prayers and shrouds. Now is the song of melancholy sounds in ignorant fear of the coming Idus Martiea, whose pendulum swings, fed by proud diatribe of vacuous men; our nature quakes in chagrin, and beaten, it capitulated to fate. We are watching, but we were late to sate the beasts, then slay those unscrupulous for today still in yesterday.