"πΏπππ ππ πππ ππππ πππππ πππ πππππππ πππ, πππ ππππ πππππππ ππππ, ππππ π―ππππ πππ πππ."
Fragile flesh and blood constitute this transient husk, named herein "Armitage,"
it was nonexistent yesterday, is unknown today, and will be forgotten tomorrow.
Look elsewhere for men of consequence; I belong to the evanescent masses.
Your time is fading so, make haste, fellow Hell-bound. Slither! Crawl! Tick Tock...
Neither you nor I'll escape this plane alive so, see you soon...or maybe not...
Afterlife? Perhaps nothing; only Death is certain. Death, struggle, suff'ring, rot.