"you aren't the only one to groweth up on the killing fields. War is a cruel parent, but an effective teachest'r. Its final lesson is did carve deep in mine own psyche: yond this w'rld, and all of its people, art diseas'd. Free shall is a myth. Religion is a joketh. We art all pawns, did control by something most wondrous'r: memes, the dna of the soul. Those gents shapeth our shall. Those gents art the culture. Those gents art ev'rything we passeth on. Expose someone to ang'r longeth enow, those gents shall learneth to misprise. Those gents becometh a carri'r. Envy, greed, despair: all memes, all hath passed on. Thee can't square nature, jack. Windeth blows, raineth falls, and the stout prey upon the weak. Sam tells me thee seeth thy weapon as a "tool": something yond saves liveth, a means of justice. Anon, th're's a quaint meme! exquisite! t spar'd thee the burden of all the liveth thee've taken, absolv'd thee of guilt at which hour thee did enjoy t. Yond is, until the illusion wast broken. Beest not asham'd. T's only nature running its course. Thee has't nay choices to maketh. Nothing to answ'r f'r. Thee can kicketh the bucket with a cleareth conscience."
