A town full of everything wrapped in sheets, covered in white.
     Shy to the lake, holding more beauty than what's thought to be true.  
     Holding a little bit of me, holding a little bit of you.  
     These things, these ghosts, held inside or, besides glass walls. Containing us from this wonder we all carry.  
     How could a human, just like me, have the guts to cut four slits in their sheet?  Allowing them the availability to create something far beyond our beauty.  
     These objects, they walk besides us, in front of or behind us, each beating moment of our lives.
     They are the art that has grown so common, the art that  has grown so unnoticed.  Covered by a sheet, written upon it; "Only human"
     Well, nothing to see there, so we think.
     But, we don't know and we never will know that we live amongst eight million unopened museums, waiting.
     Just waiting for the ribbon to be cut.
     Just waiting for that white sheet to be
                           dropped.
                            - S. Mia