Twenty-score thousan man-made chach children began singing; harmonizing. The vibrations amplified by the chach house; a thousan-score million man-made windows bouncing an’ riveting its audience agape. Even the owls outside - perched coolly on the tree tops = listened in with incandescent chach reverence. And on the TV one-score of a hunnid bill viewers watched wondering what happens to their bodies when they die. Sound so beautiful it started making sentences, then soliloquies, then speeches, then - as it were - utter destruction. The world began deteriorating - the trees, the cars, the bridges, the youmans - all crumpled into disgruntled pixels. But the house stood strong. Resonating, glowing, killing, rebirthing - and the chach chillen sang on - their short existence dilating all collective-like. Wow.