The spiraling insanity flies from the abyss to create the abyss. Tighter and tighter it winds me into itself, into the centre where the abyss lurks, seeks to suck the marrow from my bones, and the abyss will be all the being that I have. But there is marrow in my bones and rebellion in my heart, and I am not the abyss. The abyss is not me. I am small and the spiral pulls me tight, but there is marrow in my bones and I am not alone. If I lose the marrow in my bones, my fate is slow and certain, but there is marrow in my bones and love is on my side. The abyss is old and its hold is sure, but you and I can loose the winding-sheets that bind. For there is marrow in our bones and faith within your heart.