the silent impact passes as movements become masses and the despised things become what we're after.  we're our own last chapter, ununique to the minute but maybe rare the moment after.  we're glued to television screens the preach our own defeat and don't even acknowledge our new masters or their dying dreams.  your life is a worried line and devoid of devoted patchwork.

dire sirens blaze as i ire lights to do the same
fire consumes desire and wired nights are left to blame
while the mired tired chime in that they also want a taste
the inspired have conspired and perspired away the shame

the flights are nights we've compiled into piles
and sights and lights are set on the ceiling and tiles
the fights deny what's right and blood goes for miles
and the right to die is what's sequencing our style

your moment was a second and it was shot to death in front of you.  but first it asked what you are going to do.  sit around and wait for a second chance to lose any moment that'll never come again and always shows up too soon? or sleep all day and forget you had a better life to prove?