What can we do in the end?
When our existence has become completely soulless…
And the world as we know it doesn’t deserve our perception of it…

Where’s the colour?!

What can we do?
Something, anything?
Something real? Love repeated…

Remember that thing… how it gleamed…

And now, there’s nearly nothing…    
Nearly nothing because of what we’re doing…
And what we’re letting them do…

And there’s no god to save us,
Just our words and power…
Power that should be as simple as a flower that welcomes the smeller…
But instead we’re being devoured by a scent so sick and seductive it makes us shiver before being swaddled in its shadow…

An oxygen and spirit-******* force that won’t stop slowly eating us until we give up the joke inside of us - the fake rose, the front; all our artificial flavour and fervour - the real desire is deep within and we’ve all felt and feel it like a vast river that connects all our fears and wonders, making us better, stronger, longer, brighter, grander, wholer - together - an awesomely dazzling luminous light that should never be underestimated by some jester…