No gold comes from scraping the bottom of the barrel,
Fruitless seemingly insightful sycophantic suicide,
Opposed only to those daring to collide.
Hearts cannot grow without moving almost massless molecules,
Creating a popless simulacrum,
Creating memetic crumbs,
Coalescing this collective,
Of consciousness, of carefulness,
Tearing away the callusation,
Emerging into castles of ex nihilo creation.