This continuous burden, the lifeless repetition. Who will pass the rope before the bog sucks us under? Unimpressed, we are convinced that life has passed us by, so bid farewell to the morning sky - dark are the days when demise is on its way.

Speak with words that are as air, no one feels them nor they seem to care. Commerce has set the mark of selfishness, a sign of decay and acceptance we extend and tolerate. So what is the prospect for a life without the passion to live? Who are you trying to deceive?

Allowing ourselves to be deluded. A frozen frame in time when living in retrospect.

Line up, time to go.

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