This could either silence itself through the ages or settle around and exist.
Kaleidoscopic memories shifting from age to age like the colors of old, creating and moving like a serpent.

It was static, it was all over, and it was seductive and blind.
Transforming the present time, clockwise thirsty, dry and wet as water would never be.

This could either lie down or become the action it was meant to be and quietly subdue the hours into seconds.

Making room for a subtle doubt to mount the horse of freedom and go away.
We could either exist or simply stop existing in the same place and time, to add to and for a resolute deception of touch.

This could either crawl around the edges of hope and whatever else, or be quiet as mornings instead, in a city where sleep is no more.
We have awakened and the drug is restoring our brains, so we could either kill everything at the source and let it die, or resolve the riddle and let it live.

This will always solemnly march its way into our thoughts and it will pretend to pour a last cup and fill a last fill, until it goes back to the very beginning and starts it all over again.

Fulfilling the very prophecy of fear we have created to save us from our immense light.

This truth will resound in our lives, connecting us so we’ll just have to embrace light and breathe.

For destiny could only account itself permanent if the stars decided to lie on our behalf.
Given the day when we choose, everything else would in fact let us be, for nothing this old can bear any insignificance, and even the universe would raise the bets on the sordid game we play.