The battery mostly empty sends less power through the act. The art of you. The heart of you. I've heard the drums since I was a child. Music sent from my futures unseen, to touch me young with destiny. Lowest now I've ever been in the pit, the place to which ashes descend, I know the movie must play to the end, but I'll send back honesty and a meager providence sealed with well wishes and love hidden in the frames. Best believe in watching me I know your names. Cyber ink is always bleeding through the screen, writing me a list of beautiful, infinite minds. Reading it back aloud recharges my mystic energies. I take a deep breath before my return to form then open my lungs for the dive. If I drown in you, let it come. I'll stretch it out though, as I want to cherish the heights of beauty lacking in me that I see for the future in you. When the moment comes I'll show the tribunal the heart of rebellion as I learned it through the audience in their seats. The spider shall rest for the weaving as the suspicious oracle returns.