Try, wake with a hopefulness that drowns. Wishing to sleep forever, dirt will embrace me there. What are these fallacies anyway? Because in the end, all turns to nothing. Nothing at all. Wilted shadows lashed across the earth, spawned black face of mine. Morbid mushrooms disseminating the Garden of Eden, watch it rot. Smoke filled extrication, short-lived. Drawing on impudence. Maybe. Question everything. *Clap* Switch back to the life we call reality, pretend to be normal. Conformity; the obsession, the oppression. The only opportunity to find yourself (for a split second) is when you fall. Only to remember, all comes from nothing. Nothing at all.