Can you smell the sound
of rolling thunder?

Can you hear the sun
burning brighter?

Can you taste the winds
of the unsound
loosing it's breath?

That is the awkwardness
of a thousand Aspies
marching to the beat
of their own drums

An army of Love
born out of abuse

bred under confusion
slaugthered by normalcy
here to kill Idiocracy

The snowball has left the peak
down the hill of the inevitable.

Try to stop us
There is no cure