what is to be of a wasted life of spent breath to vent the concepts unkempt to the context of the plight?

It could really be alright, as we dance the night away, and play house on a world scale, a snails pace on the trails of progress.

Yet to digress to a better man with a plan and a project to reach naivety, in elementary innocence never completely lost.

We are the boss of our own reflections.
Gluing together the inter-sections divided of the perfections embossed in loss-less injections upon your ghost.

Host to your congregation of one.
One day to become
Become the son of the day
Days encased of night
Nights blathering beautifully in the love songs of lonely poets united beneath the stars of afar in unprompted kindness that spread like a virus inside us, and opened the eyes of babes with the dice of slaves freed on self gambles, leaving dread in the shambles of yesterday's imagination.

Be emptied everything.