I don't think well when the revolution drowns out dissent and causes velcro like scars in my eyes
Forever and a day the wake continues, grows and functions. Arms aflame and sometimes when your pantleg wraps around the throat of unconvincing batters. A contingent beast on unyielding steel platforms, screaming for release, yet somehow it breaks free only when it understands that freedom is death and the recreation in it fuels a phoenix like rise to power. Only the morning star knows it burns itself in the winds of change. SOmehow everything thinks its a permanent entity even though the laws of matter say otherwise. We're all compost we just dont know it yet.