I want an award for managing to pull my heart out. I want to be excused while I hold the weapon. At the bottom, we want the sorrow and the pain, the effort that backfires, the lover that pushes away. We play slaying demons to see the red glow brighter. It's all an act, an old story, a lullaby song, a shadow of what it could be. We are tired of the empty blue misery, a sky with no clouds to draw a picture, nothing for your imagination to see.
Time is breaking and is stops now, like an infinity serpent that finally, finally got tired and surrender to the Earth to swallow it hole, covering it with new life. No new symphonies will be played until the void makes that dance again.
