The power of our words made flesh. The patterns of our lives we can’t accept as coincidence or fate. Old words bear the most weight. Fossil phrases take their toll. Unconscious minerals retain fragmented pictures of our wayward past; a story arc to fill the gap.
A frozen desert, drenched in red. Advancement captured through a distorted lens. Brace for the worst insatiable thirst. Left to defend nature from the mortal curse of man.
A distant voice that pierces centuries echoes the myth of progress and ruthless genes. The hall of mirrors in which we reside enslaved by glory seekers and fatal pride. Cast out your net son, and pray for rain to fully saturate this scorched terrain. We’re blind to the realities of our sin. A fractured faith our thoughts condemn. When form and function conspire towards a common end. There’s some redemption in every death. Advancement captured through a distorted lens.