lampshade

and we rage against the silence and the deafening sound, as in all bodies meant to be somebody not just six feet down.

and we fade white like winter, the comforting ground, only to rise springshine in the body we have found.

against the flocks of mankind we stand as tall as we can, despite this the sage passes lives like fistfuls of sand.

to be or not to be. that was the question. to be by not being, that was his suggestion, yet king high, or mudmaker low, we slashed middle class, and let blood flow;

as in pumping veins, and doing what the head do.