i told them over and over, but nobody wanted to know. i begged them, summer after summer, but nothing solved on it's own now i can help them, but no-one is making a move am i blind? is any of this forgiven? what's not to a lot, is little but a shot, of substance - true - but smelling like poo. that's not inspiring. it's not even chilling. you're broken just like your children. oh, posterity! i claim it for thee this feeling of wretched denial oh, simplicity! if only our lives were on trial. be the best you can be, sure, but take it from me there's more to this show than our styles. what do you think it means, for an action to have consequence? to arbite the fate of circumstance? every motion is an ocean of possibilities and purveyals think not of the commotion below. gravity, oh gravity how you condemn us to be! driven by commotion, our slithering motion, no sense in countering ourselves.