how do I make plain to you a truth with the very words who's meanings you refuse? a game of truth to which I'm bound—and bound to lose how can I hand you a precision tool of eternal value, flexible and fine, knowing you wield it wildly, these words of mine? trace them back and find foundation, source of difference, all creation. but mock and murder, invite, invoke, dead brothers and gods ye provoke subside they will but not without blood; a word to unwise wordsmiths—after hubris, the flood