Balbueh Has been waiting a servitude of self validation that would never come Purpose is irrelevant, matter is irrelevant, Memory is irrelevant for the pitch of some Trapped beneath the Elevator and in between the void it almost seems cruel The fathoming of that emptiness, the isolation it's desolate fuel Balbueh did drift as they always have until they found a light The Heightening triangulates us from below. Up is only right
