Nevertheless, to generations of writers after Independence, the printed word was a kind of magic, the grimoire that would bring about liberation.

I come home, in the mornin' light / My mother says when you gonna live your life right / Oh momma, dear, we're not the fortunate ones / And girls, they wanna have fun / Oh, girls just wanna have fun

They would have us saved by a daily oblation propitiatory; by a sacrifice expiatory, or remissory.

At worst, if the entire EIS goes kaputz, "we could lose everything,“ he said.