In the land of forbidden dreams, we pray for forgiveness to ourselves as the recurring good old plaything become our one to behold. From day to day, we set a sail to the whole exactly biblical body copy. We know who we are, we aware of what we made of. Ideas and progression. But the roads are made, and the wind has cried. The boots are trapped.

As the finer man says, "bully to you". Silent applaud and it lingers. We never knew open arms could be so cold. In the world where heaven is non-existent, the earth's hell lies.