A cycle repeats itself, twists and turns in uncomfortable threads, you've seen this wolf before but the sheep's clothing is abandoned, there was a time when you rose in rebellion, marched on the bastions of rule, but those days are gone now, you are tired, defeated.
But there's an ember from the last round that lingers, there's a Santa Ana wind in your ear drum that remembers how to set itself aflame, the four years that followed the last time you fell were also the most beautiful in weaves of creativity, in beacons of potential. When everything crumbles, you have no choice but to put yourself together,
When everything turns black with evil,
you have no choice
but to turn the flame into a
flashlight
and lead the way
out.
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