The morning came rolling in on misty and foggy rain. Streets reflected red stop lights and flashing marque signs as yellow cabs carelessly changed lanes.

Into the darkened tunnel and over the cobblestone bridge in hurried races to get home.
They return to their own dull rituals before lying down to dream of far away lands to roam.

What matters is what you believe to be true.
To follow like helpless lemmings into a foamy sea of sorrow and haunting dirge interludes.

Oh yes, they can be kept in line, but eventually they fall futher behind.
They doggedly trek slowly across the battlefield head long and hard lined.

Suddenly they are lost in infinite darkness and lost in...