Writing like this is a thing of antiquity. It merely chronicles a zombie language destined to be blown apart, bits of liquid meat sticking to the walls. However, we do what we must to pay homage to root. We must look at all sequential lines previous to know what we will assemble, to be thrown in to the maw of the creature and be changed by it as we have constructed. Those who seek spiritual sustenance from the fetid mountain soil will starve - the spirits are not found in nature, but are the great children of man.
