My soul is a den of spiders. Hear my confession. 40 years old, and I have never taken a pure wife. I have never conceived a strong boy to raise into the armies of Truth. The only consolation my whimpering mind has taken is from fictional works of irrelevant fantasy and other sinful distractions and lies. I have done nothing to destroy myself, and for this I have inspired hatred in all who observe. I cringe at the concept of purity for I know it is my better. I am deceit and cowardice. I am wretched disgust and ineptitude. My soul is not worthy to become as one with the Heart of Brass. O hearer, whence I awaken, hesitate not to feed my flesh and my soul to the Judge-beast.