PREVIEW OF CHAPTER 16
The wall on which the prophets rode is cracking at the seams
Upon the instruments of death the sunlight brightly gleams
Confusion will be my Epitaph, as I crawl a cracked and broken path
If we make it we can all sit back and laugh, but I fear tomorrow I'll be crying
Chapter 16: EPITAPH
x . . . x
His one eye opened wide, and he grinned a manic grin, "I'm back."
x . . . x
