This is a message… a system of messages… Listen closely.
This is not a place of honor.
We considered ourselves to be a powerful culture.
What is here was dangerous and repulsive to others.
Something terrible happened in a different time.
Follow the ticking of the clock down the winding paths of the timestream.
Do you get it now? You should leave. This is not a place of honor. There is no honor here.
Bury it all under sand and concrete and darkness. Do not disturb the dead; when they wake, you will hear it. Echoes from the stirring in the tombs cry out to you, and amidst foreign tongues you will hear your name.
Something terrible. Get it out. Bury it under the sand. Repeat these utterances for future generations so that this redundancy may never attenuate. But do not repeat the hands of the clock, the writing of the ink, the movement of the sun. For the hands are still, the ink is dry, and the sun is gone.
This is, of course
Just physics, still.
But somehow, beneath the sand, and tons and tons of concrete, a voice calls your name still. Or do you call out to them?
The danger is still present…
… the danger is to the body
… … and it can kill.