…while I am standing still. I prefer the stillness here.
I am tired of Earth, these people. I’m tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.
They claim their labours are to build a heaven, yet their heaven is populated with horrors.
Perhaps the world is not made.
Perhaps nothing is made.
A clock without a craftsman.
It’s too late.
Always has been, always will be… too late.
