We live in a dark plain, forever stretching beyond our limits, and yet strive to reach, behind the bluebells and sweet cotton dove. We fall into the bubbling stream, announcing our presence as invaders, dancing trees fall to meet our whim. The clouds above circle like preying birds, staring down upon our progress as we cross the never ending line. Still we find we are met with obstacle after obstacle, crying tears of golden filigree, and having no such ultimate wealth as those we envy. The thunder claps to sound the alarm. We must run now, but we are always just running, without knowing what lies behind the bush. Some say this is foolish, but we believe that it’s perfection. Whistling reeds follow us along our pathway, a purity of water tainted by conceit, lies and treachery. Yet water will always remain pure. The blood spilled here tonight is drying too quickly, it cannot be called the life force of anything breathing. Yet even as the apple rots, the forbidden fruit becomes poisoned with experience and innocence is lost among the mouths of fools, we know that there is a death out there greater than this one. And we will live to see it.