It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place 

It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place upon the hill overlooking the city. I sat up beneath the Great Tree of Life rooted like the number nine. The moon was my candlelight, clothed in the cool of night, breathing in its stillness while recording the messages telegraphed in my heartbeat. Art, one of the most honest forms of storytelling, has brought me a wealth of knowledge given by the stories which they tell. I would like to share them with you here. It was late at night when I took my place