The sun isn\'t shining,
it\'s just teasing my optical nerves with what seems to be bright.
But I know... I know what your game is, Mr sun...
You\'re lulling us into a fictively complacent stance,
leaving us wide open... and when you release the truth
and when you enforce reality upon us...
the complete dark you\'ve hidden from our sight...
but you\'re not alone in this, are you?
Mr. Tree is in the know, and Ms. Moon...
Ms. Moon, I\'m disappointed with your eagerness to kill me.
But the truth is much grimmer than death.
If you traverse the chain from evil insect to evil bird
to evil cloud to evil atmosphere to evil moon to evil sun...
... we haven\'t even scratched the surface of this conspiracy.
This could possibly reach deep into the darkness,
deep into the abyss... the cornerstone of evil self...
the WEATHERMEN!
It\'s logical if you think about it way too much...
They\'re witches, all of \'em...
controlling the weather to suit their moods...
Wicked people... but are they, in fact people?
The questions builds a nice puzzle of quizzological insignificance...
Are they human like some of us might be?
And how do they fit into the tiniest of compartments?
A friend of a roomate of a friend\'s cousin\'s dad\'s mother\'s daughter\'s telephonerepairman saw one escape and drill a hole in his wall with the head of an unborn unicorn... does that not say anything to noone of you?

To me it\'s pronounced MOIDOUR!
... I... I don\'t know how it\'s spelled... I... I can\'t read or write...
(but I can ramble on and on about unimportant subjects with no sense or point...)

/