The cold embeds itself
Deep within the reaches of the underground.
It freezes the earth's core,
Similar to the way it freezes our bones.
This cold grows inside the walls of every abandoned building,
Every forgotten factory,
Along the soiled roads
That wind themselves around the city we call home.
The masses move as one,
Lifeless yet still they breathe.
They're following routine,
Simply because routine is hard to break.
And yet the buses still come,
The trains still run,
The high-speed lines still high.
As if to trick us into believing that the world might still be alive.
This cold has been a relentless assault.
And as with everybody else,
The cold has frozen my motivation.
It has shattered my will.
-Pilot