Bring down the heavy rain of the sleeping forefathers and let the ancient mothers of yours steer you through the storm.

They say that feathers of birds since long extinct just fell from above. Travel through eons is such a lonely buisines.

And if you lift a fallen feather to your ear a murmuring sound of chasing mamals is audible at a distance.

You can sense the dense layers of nothingness strike as metal against metal. This world is a late guest at the party.

The precious bubbles of everyones efforts. I am deeply involved in the collective illusion. Baer with me that I tried to escape. Since we came here we started to decay.