There's always a period of change. This blood of ours has a history of grand revolution, if we can't find a solution to our lives, we simply change to be someone else, and who could blame us for opting to run, besides ourselves?

We toss and turn, we earn the trust of those we love, and burn the bridges of our memory. Over night we seem to lose all traces of our former selves, and throw the remains of our old prison cells overboard.

We cast aside the truth for lies, in hopes of finding a better answer than the one we had before. We give ourselves a clever guise, worthy of a king, though jesters we are born.

And who could blame us, besides ourselves for chasing a fools dream? A fact of life, this seems to be, that change occurs constantly.