o verdant sphere! the clentching fists of trees, writhing like salted slugs; the buzzing of things half bug, half seed-pod. her oceans teeming with tentacled life, beaked, biting. how darling lorelai, its queen, fears the invasions of her monster world! come not, endura! your hungry astral ghosts are not welcome amidst the towering grasses! come not, endura! asleep on the ocean floor beneath knotted mats of reeds, only the trembling globes of titanic angler-fish-things breaks the dark monsoon of the night. your world is young while this world is old; how soon will you slither among the deserts of glass left when it is dead? how high will your grasping claws reach? unless again come the endura, to rape & rapine. how hungry those spectres that haunt your misty swamps. cry forth to tiamat!