The sound of this music, scratching notes within the left side of my head,
A perfect dystopia, crafted by the decay of scorching breath,
The only wind that blows,
Comfort, away, is swept.
.
The words cried themselves echoes, in the right side of my mind, from empty streets, littered with sand,
A society, long ago, lost,
So is the current direction of man.
.
What is...