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I thank you you Monica, for you have released my soul from that pit. From hell, from shoal of abandonment. And taking me to 
the highland of you is love. I thank you. Or the walks that limits plain and knows that there is love for one that finds and share 
a timeless companionship. Yes you cleaned my spirit that was distorted by those hearts that’s stand with the holy of holy 
beings. 
In communion with those children of loneliness. Yes you gave me a lot with the souls of understanding. Now lets me praise 
the name of Monica. Commonly, rejoice; recount your wonders and your love. For I was the creature of darkness that was born 
on to me, for which now I call the 55th darkness. And you Monica alone were not afraid to come in, and take back this soul 
which did not belong. 
Now Monica what am I? Like bread lacking its water? What is my worth? And what is this new found strength? When I stood 
on the borders that those who is godless and cast my lot with the damned. With the poor man soul who lives with that savage 
confusion. calamity dodged my steps. When all the snares of the pit were open. When the lures of wackiness was set. And the 
nets of the damned were spread out on the face of the waters. 
And extinguishing hope. When the meaning of measuring ropes of judgment fell and wrath fell on the forsaken. When fury 
devoured the cunning, the cords of death tightened around me. When there was no escape. The torrent of Satan himself 
overflowed my high banks like a devouring fire. It destroyed every green or withered tree in my channel. As I wonder about in 
burning fire. 
Oh how my head shake with this love I have saved for you. Until all that’s drinks no more? Its pour over hizons of dry days. 
Capture the foundation of mountains with fire. When the roots of flint become streams of pitch and it even plunge into the 
great abyss. The torrents of Satan burst into hell itself. And roar with eruptions of mud. The earth groans in anguish for the 
havoc in the universe, for the deep howl. The living screams goes’ mad and perish. 
But Monica, her thunders, herravccus voice of love. Her holy residence echoes the truth of her love. The armies of heaven high 
utter their voices and the world's foundation quakes and melt. The intimated by the soldiers of heaven. Have scourged the 
coming. It sweeps on until its incomparable extermination. Wholly determined is complete.
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