I feel like this cold, dead burning end is coming for us all, and we’re all a part of it. I’m the bandit, behind the mask, I hold an instrument of death of some kind and so do you, and so does she, and so do they and we run around and around, and around, if I’m allowed to say that.
Let’s assume I just took responsibility for talking. Let’s be assured that I am not just banging my head on the glass trying to get out. Let’s begin to imagine that maybe I’m not here, and this just is what it is. Add it up, calculate the data, push together the graves. We linger and are dead, someday.
Ah, well! Ah, well, I SAY! Holler your vocal cords, stretch your lymph nodes, you or I are alive, we are free! We live! We live the fight, my friends, take up your arms, rest your weary head, our breaths are merely instruments of echoes, hollow and hammering against the sheer nothing, you are only hearing the vibrations of a minstrel! Rejoice, as yet we live!