Broken trust spilled over a pile of ***** laundry
Memories deform as they enter the realm of imagination
The music still plays, even though the dancers are long gone
Curling away from the streak of light sneaking in through a crack in the curtains
Stupid we might be, stupid we shall stay
Believing in ourselves while living a lie

The clouds finally part
Close your eyes and look up at the skies
Yearning for a familiar warmth
Only to be smitten by the wrath of Helios
Wishing for an oasis, only to be graced with an unending mirage

Perched atop the pile sits a suit
Within the suit, a man
Years pass and yet he moves not
He hasn't blinked yet
Aged, has he not
He sees, yet registers nothing
His existence he cannot question himself
As there is no monologue

As the music refuses to fade
The tired feet, start tapping yet again
And then the wine begins to flow once more
***** eyes in the smoky room wander
As men and women transform into gods and soon into dust
Yet, the music plays on
Distant, but still there.