There is no turning back on the road From the ruined temple of Apollo. Cold cobbles our naked feet did follow Away from the god’s hallowed abode. With ragged feet, on broken stones we strode, Tracking the flight of one lonely swallow; There is no turning back on the road From the ruined temple of Apollo. Where paeans once rang and libations once flowed To the Wolf, to the Light, to the one called Apollo, Now temples and tombs of the wise are but hollow. Though a darkness ahead does our own ruin forebode, There is no turning back on the road.
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Ruins are better than nothing at all, because we can still learn from what little was left behind. But will we? Maybe. Maybe not.