"The angel crouched at the edge of The Valley of Aiya, herself become a flaming combine, as he listened to the sheep speak in loud tones. 'Forsworn, this mockery! And irony, there is none!' These babbling and mindless sheep chanted in unison. 'Synchronize, synchronize, all we do is tell our lies!' The angel grimaced as he continued to watch. The imitations and mimics cared not. So desperate were they to be this greatness they imitated, and by jealousy, sought to destroy compl