A poem by Larry Bell from the SUMER project narrative

There needs be a method of travels for the thought, and yet is shall exist not.

A story for the soul will be found and then lost, and found not again

So shall ye travel to the end of the land and yet shall ye not leave thy home.

Thou shalt feel pain in thy heart and thy heart shall exist not.

Thy issue shall multiply and yet there shall be none.

The path shall flow yet the traveler be still.

They shall come in skins yet shall they be naked.

The lion shall visit yet shall not be there.

The song of the river shall not be heard.

The word of the Gods shall not be known

Thou shalt have gifts and yet shall have none.

Thou shalt find words that cannot be read.

Thy enemy shalt conquer and yet shall have naught.

Thy victory will be joyous yet ye shall know only sadness.

When thy knowledge is greatest thy wisdom will be dumb.

When comest the word thy mind will fail.

Thy house shall be grand and yet small.

When these words ye have read the clay shall be blank.

The stranger will come and ye shall know him well.