Quite simply your dellusion isn't singing, nor is it the first time you've lost it all - neither or would it be the most poetic remark in brutal irony, the tragedy that is your word which you conceive to be you, is quite simply, Bombeii. not even Pompey. Just Bombeii. End of Story. Then begins with this boring, exposition, thought you'd listen. Figured you'd go away, things are much softer, now that you'll never stay. Eden relaxes. Snakes slither their way through your heart into a deceptive actuallity in which reality becomes the greatest deception of trust in existance. You become the trusting faults. The things that trust every lie. The lies that fall to every guy. The pathetic that'll never understand the Godly Poetic. What's hidden from you, you'll never know. Cause it's only truth and you'll never show. Except it does. Accept it does. Accept a higher power that you'll never understand. You'd never meet his demands. He's come to you human, to set the puzzle in motion. Maybe at the end you'll realise what hope is. Memories? Yeah I've got em all. Sad stories, sorry their this tall. Now I could fix it. All you gotta do is Listen - Think - Speak - Question - Come . Very obvious, the genetic superior, is quite simply, full of supremacy. Unquestionable, is my supremacy. You're capability to not accept truth, is a repetition of history in this greatest Phone Booth.