( WP ) The last man on Earth gets a knock on the door , and it 's Christmas carolers

My own biases aside, I'll admit to myself that the song selection is on point. I'll admit this to myself because that's the only kind of admission possible at this point. Denial is the open origin I avoid by linear acceptance of all 360 degrees, of every angle, but no points. 
 
 A less circular comparison is I am focusing on the scoreboard until the away team's score fades from numbers I understand and worry over into a more comfortable infinity symbol. I admit to myself I `` can not'' see the time, and that a period is a point. My own teams score is wonderfully invisible in plain sight, as the counter to infinity should be, so I elude the closing solo performance ( I accepted a role when there were positions, I played point. ) 
 
 I admit this to myself, because there is no other means of admission. These monsters ( I admit my own fear ) that sing the songs of my ancestors ( I admit the songs were never really mine ) will not understand. They stole ( before he had a chance to own ) the voice of a son I never taught such things to. They took him too soon for me to do so. They took him to soon, that was his age. They sing in all of his emotions, and I notice my sadness absent from the chorus ( a silent night agreed ). This fills me with emotions that ca n't exist in that ( this ) dimension where the stimulus is their truer forms, and assume the only lie left. I accept my sadness to myself. I accept if it is possible for a lie to accept its believer ( holy night indeed ) sadness is accepting me. The truth ( I wish I could know it to accept it ) is going to be the last lesson. This race ( a 100 percent dash ) that came, saw, and conquered ( killers, never rulers ) for the total identities of the seen will understand our futility that's finally glimmering ( nothing really shines at night ) unhindered by my avoidance of it. I admit that glimmer was a shine to myself, and give myself to my hope. The glimmer in his eyes on his face from my body on my porch on what will be his planet in much the same way it would have been. 
 
 
 It's a shame humans already gave up immortality though. We do n't exist, we live finitely in infinite time ( the scoreboard flickers ). Anything over infinity is zero, but nothing gets to be infinity. So as Earth continues beginning and this story appears through chance ( universal history ), or whatever comforting differentiations it's expressions use ( Authors Note: I think that means me ), here is my history. Our world is a hell prone to freezing over 
 
 -In memory of the frozen
