There is a strange feeling in life when you become boxed in, tight inside of a square that swears everything can be color coated back into words and similar motivations. It is a weird life, when pain begins to sound like money raining, and a broken heart is hit with square corners as we all wished we were the inhuman again, the one thing that couldn't be pinned down in the flesh and won over by love, destroyed by hate.
we wish we were in control as the magic whispers of the night come parading down hallways coloring their laughter as being social, in a world of greed and hidden agendas.
There is this strange place locked in a box of black and white watching the moon wade, and the wolves hunt, knowing deep down there are more powerful things in this world than people, there is ignorance, and a cold shoulder and flat back. it is our only sense of materialistic value in a world that kills one another for awards and land.
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