The arrogance of control was living on, above the ground, the poverty was draining the relatives still looking for a lifebelt with a crock of gold in the middle.
Time was running out so was patience, the survivors took the graveyard rubbing hardened lichen from weather worn wobbly stones and there it stood, as I speaking aloud.
It is here, all you are seeking, I am the mystery relative, dead but a saviour nonetheless you will find the box of an unknown uncle the contents inside the brazen husk will unlock all you requirements forever, it is called hell.