that feeling of a clock striking right is actually a momentary glint of light pouring through a crack in the cold stone shell that has become encrusted around the hearts of those soaking too often in the type of extreme rhetorical panic which broods a curated and embedded fear similar to the kind that makes children afraid of the bogey man, they feel safer to stay hidden with the fear than to venture out enough to discover it was just a chimney sweep on the distant rooftop and everything is fine outside after all where they soon discover some great adventure or purpose in the richness of the world