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They say that long ago, the Muses sat spinning the thread of Time with gentle skill; but Fate came by, and with her sharpened knife, snapped off the thread, and with it, cut off life. So out of sound Ill spin my music thread, out of the breath of God that breathes on me, out of the tears of Christ that bear my sins, and with my minds eye set on my Lords grace, my silver needle filled with silks of life, Ill weave along these staves, soft melodies, drawing each strand aside to its full length, setting each timbre well into its bass, dot upon dot, and trace upon trace, to toll Gods counterpoint, the resurrection bell.