I sleep in pitch black rooms and wait
for candles to light themselves
Thoughts the same shade of dark.
Counting sheep as they hop into  slaughter houses of gluttonous, avaricious men who trade their humanity for pocket change.
While satans minions work with circumspectivness to reap what their slave-like bourgeois  have sewn living with a motto of
Yesterday is history tomorrow is a mystery
In the Meantime fribble prodigal sons of the privileged ponder their inheritance
While the daughter of a currier burns her fathers letters because something's are best left unknown
and the candles remain unlit.
But beauteous animals still roam free in the wild,
little kids still smile.
There's hope in the heart of each child.
Sitting in seclusion and coming to Ambiguous conclusions is always productive
So When did the key to success become failure?
*when wasn't it?