I see it all now, for what it really is. The world isn't dark and cold, nor is it bright and cheerful. It's a subtle grey that blankets the cities of humans. Forever bound to the people who treasure their ideas eternally. Never will it be able to be moved, destroyed, or forgotten. They are reminded of it every day of their lives. When they look out the window, drive their car to work, or get on the bus to school. Forever shall it obscure their sight from the truth of things. Good and evil, it's just a fantasy made to pit us against one another. If they could feel what I feel, perhaps things would be a bit different. But as it stands, there is no hope in anything being changed for the better.
I hear music...slowly coming from the alleyways of these concrete alleyways. Coated by the hope of those who wish to see a better day. Obscured by the prejudice of those who wish to destroy their fellow man. These cities speak to me, and as a result I began to listen. They speak of tyrannies, and corruption. They whisper of hope and love. They yell of bloodshed, and thievery. Things seem to be moving slowly around me..as if I was caught in a trance of angelic harps, and demonic voices. The light of the sun, and the shadows of the moon create the illusions they hope to never see.
The street lights shine their golden beams on the ones who are lost, and help them find their way. But where is it that they are going? Are they ever aware of where they are at this very second? I can't but wonder if maybe there is something more to this. Something that hopes to forever remain hidden, that it can never be found and judged for the crimes it has committed against the very people it has sworn to protect. Against the very children who grow, and become the people who uphold it's very existence. Perhaps this is the way things must be. Like a driven alcoholic who insists he doesn't have a problem. Take the crutch away, and watch him crumble and die. This place must be so high, it couldn't even stand the mere thought of reality.
We shall see how this drama comes to an end. I'll bare witness to the product left behind after the dust has settled. The carving that they themselves have created as their eternal tribute to the cosmos. Who knows, maybe I'm just another lost one, believing himself to be free of the shackles. But even if I am shackled, my eyes are still open. And so I shall not rest until they see the shackles on their wrists, and cry out for freedom. For once it has begun, there is no more room for mistakes. And the ogres who watch the hills above our heads will yell in horror, at the sight of their own creation coming to destroy them.
La liberté est mais le produit que vous terminez vers le haut avec, après la longue et âprement disputée bataille. La libertad está solamente el producto que usted termina para arriba con, después de la batalla larga y muy controvertida. Свобода только продукт вы кончаетесь вверх с, после того как длиннее и трудное ое сражение. Freiheit ist aber das Produkt, das Sie oben mit beenden, nach dem langen und hart umkämpften Kampf. 自由は長く、激戦の戦いの後にあなたによってがで終る製品、あるが。And it shall never be finished by any other mean
