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Books Lie.

birdseed sourcecode

We are children of anonymous beings, desperately trying to be recognized,
Spiritual orphans casting our nets into the mire, and prospecting the remains.
There is no decadence, in this decaying dance, every night out is another nail in the coffin of youth, age is the only thing both feared and revered. A constant syllabus, shatters expectations and haunts our dreams, thought as creation, innocence as action.

Fatalist and symbolist feeding frenzied faces,
rejuvenate and annihilate ideals daily.

The muck and the mire, and the sea and the sand,
beat their steady pace,
Catharsis in routine, the exquisite irony.

one

startingpoint.

Going to keep things as minimal as possible.

thnx
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