My enchanting home, my home in metal needs no name but needs order, rhythm and form set against chaos, and detonation of Black Seas of chordless music. I throw my glassful of pink champagne at you, your heart no stronger than a violet in mountain shadow. How many small roots lie under the world’s firm soil. I have earned the right to determine the secret message in the glaze of mist, and I shall write it down in my native language in all stages of its natural life. I can read the mountain’s chemistry by day, and night’s sheer flaring.