We call for nature through the windows of our castles, silently we beg for a life we've left behind. money doesn't build trees and cars are wrapped in rubber, seperating us from ourselves and distancing us from our mother.

As we cling onto what we've built for eachother, cold, dead devices running idly in our hands. longing to be loved and begging to be worshipped, it's as if fear itself spawned the devil inside us leaving man to wonder is god within? or die blaming it for all his sins.