God could come bursting in on some lazy afternoon and shove the sun down your throat. Give you the hallelujah and words to be spoken to tangle and provoke. Then we'd all sail our silver ships around your illuminated face. Suspended in orbit we would float. It would be dreamy for a while but in the frustration of doubt, a captain would stand in place. Captains must declare war on all by taking away the light. Evil deeds continue, with shadows dancing into the endless night. You are no longer the pawn, though. The great disciples await on their planets with perfectly aimed cannons ready to fire the hell of billions of burning years straight at the Captain's tyranny. Forcing the universe to shed thousands of tears that collide and burst in Shockwaves of matter and spread its disease across an unknown field of vision. Where new Gods awaken to the desolation wandering formless for a home. The Captains will persist in making the worst decisions. Without being able to conquer they will make the sun that you unwillingly devoured a simple equation. A set of events made of chance to dissolve fixation while leading his crew on a starry ride into temptation. Do not spit out your sun you must glow for the silver ship believers to carry on to the new gods that came to be by tears of war. This is what you were made for.