those vibrant colors, a pandemic, the rushing sound of images, wavelengths, incredible. We cannot discern the end, or the meaning it holds, but we can bare gritted teeth to accept the suffering. March sons, March. Know every inch of our land, so that you may one day rule it with iron hands. Off on the horizon, I perceive their crafts, glimmering, shimmering, doom ridden, rotting drift wood, pulling small pieces from its hull. We met only by chance, found love by only first glance, danced in the comfort of our minds, and shed each others blood on dunes. March suns, march. Catch your breath for only a moment, catch your tongue and sing.
Then we realize, our measly existence is a mere speck on this time line.
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