A twist, a turn, so slow that burn… and nowhere left to run, and no one left to… and so it goes. Blood drips from the candle of deceit, flows out from the cave of no retreat. On and through to the bridge of the lost and confused… where wander the souls entangled in limbo between need and want, pain and pleasure, self and other, desire and blame. The brook of cliches, saturation, false hopes and lamentations is murmuring below. The train to the final destination has already left the station. The sirens of fame and fortune are singing on its shores – their alluring tune of no meaning or reason. A lone branch hangs outside a cave, leaves frayed, eaten, decayed. To grasp this branch provides vitality and light, and harmony to sight… a portal to a world without suffering, to a world with no pain – to that netherworld of torrents of freedom from the mundane. The fallen never see it – they are eaten alive by the sirens. They speak in songs of riddles so complex that they become truth. They sell lies to the innocent, robbing them of their youth. They desecrate purest beauty… scar, corrupt, and pretend to soothe. So alight those lanterns… so aglow with the Graces. Find the right pattern to adorn your elegant faces. Extract from the void. See into the beyond. Darkness will pry the covers to your eyes. Wounds are agape. The masses want rape. Extract from the void. Wave your wand.