I'm getting ever more sentimental, leaving old battered hoi behind... coming to a point really where I look back upon the endless hours staring blankly at the vnet screen, or being thrown to desktop during deceisive battles or cursing cheesy exploits... as the good old days
I'm sure i'm not alone in this. I think it's suitable posting the first verse of TS Eliot's wierd and wonderful poem "the hollow men". an ode to hoi and hoi 2 "death's other kingdom"
"the hollow men" - TS Eliot
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
"the hollow men" - TS Eliot
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.