why do i fear the grasp of repercussions, will they last? or bury my head in the sands, rather than peer through the looking glass? i’m looking on and on and on into an age of distorted light where i open up my senses and see miles and miles of strife. speaking to me in tongues. grasping with millions of arms, symbols that speak a history of mankind. are you a symbol of power-struggle? death? or just a rebirth of a phantom existence? language barrier or culturally blind? mind over matter or matter over mind? a void of communication because you’re speaking to yourself in symbols of the mind. in a culture that cannot sing, i’d rather be screaming. you are who you will yourself to be. it’s the freedom of creation.