As the witching hour approaches we know nothing of time. We act as robots programmed for daily routine.
Wishing for an existence to feel alive.
The earth spins so very fast as times Marches on.
In the chaos of rush hour upon us we began to speed like race cars on a track. In the far distance our ears detect an echo, that slowly becomes closer.
We haven't much time left to complete incomplete thoughts. We hustle like wolves chasing prey, as darkness rears its head light is no longer. We rest with our mouths full.