Alas the time has come,
Where sorrow shows its bleeding eyes.
There came a day where we had to stop pretending.
Our “Golden Age” has turned to dust.

The times of make believe are at an end...

The solstice of our abstraction has fallen on winter.
On our fingertips...
The pages burn to cinders.
Why does existing become so perilous,
Without imagination to sort it through...

Enchanted lullabies fall from grace on mute lips.

No more truancy left in us,
To wander in the dust that’s left behind,
Unkindled and unkind...
All is lost to us now.