I mourn myself before my father’s grave. My tongue, my blood, this air will tell my tale, The proof of which is buried now beneath Those desert sands, beside that river’s shore.
Of noble men so many earth has bared, / But to the great Ali no one compared.
Here we go, past Adam and Eve, from Eastest Asia, through Greco-Roma and Indo-Persia, to ChristEuropa and America, and now The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarronnkonnbronntonnerontuonnthunntrovarrhounawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!), a Vican recirculation.