Would the chaos and madness cease their wrath upon the populace if the storm of

whipping tears and tongues simply fled into oblivion?

Would the rugged chain of profligate violence and incessant cannonade end if we all
were able to tame our ignorant ambitions of universal dominion?

The secrets that were once dancing in intimacy with joy are now scathing in the darkness of our ever deepening, darkening abyss: The soul of despair, the debauched world of politics- those Herculean dictators of innocence- the black hole of war which drags and rips our mind away from the light so that we forget its warmth and crawl away into the cold.

The melody of nature chimes preciously in the twilight; yet, we forge rivals, empty our hearts, and shield our ears from listening to the purest lullaby, the purest truth.

Pocket-burning tramps roam the streets in sullen silence as they call to their heathen gods below- those which cannot answer to the living, but can service to the dead- those which cannot provide light, but can smother our world in shadow.

And the green hills which tumble over each other and roll away into the horizon, quake in fear of being lost and tremble upon the thought of being found.

The mystery of truth lingers in the alleyways, always hiding from the ones who wish to solve its incomprehensible enigma. Even the neurotic scavengers who are blinded with immoral nostalgia search to find the mystery, but quickly lose themselves along the way.

Crackpots, Coots, Creeps, Freaks, Gonzos, Whackos, Nuts, and Queers try to fill the hole in their heart with the numbness of intoxication and the inducing of hallucinations, but they discount the fact that the very purpose for metaphysical stimulation is meant to only make the hole bigger, wider, more open- and they look to false gods for guidance… for which they worship with empty hearts.

People believe what they hear and ignore what they know, the mind and the heart become useless after innumerable bouts with dignity… and the black dagger becomes a friend, an essential to freedom. But the desired truth is no greater than a lie disguised as goodness… something humans wish to hear.

And as the seraphs sing their song, the trees will whistle back, and as the stars speckle in the black of night, the Windbreaker prevents the chaos from invading in the black of night.