perhaps,
in the end of all ends,
we are meant for nothing more
than the perpetual hell we spend the majority of our lives in.
after all, boy, who are we to ask questions such as these?
exactly. nothing. no-one.
not a thing you or i say will matter to any of them.
so that is why we write our stories.
it's the only way our words will matter,

and it's the only way they'll listen.