Far upon the western sky, the sun sits frozen
Their rapid talk, the arguments, the justifications put aside; for now, all done
The winds wheel wide upon the great torpid expanse
Beyond those waves, beyond that sky, past even where starlights dance
Words lost on wind, their echoes haunt us, indifferently eclectic
The relay of information, nary studied, and murmurs of lightly disaffected
Back and forth they rage, the words like daggers, slicing flesh and digging deeper
Slay the rationalizations, penetrate the mind; disorient their thoughts, but wake the lucid sleeper
Vision begins to blur, believed and cherished concepts die and then begin to wither
Shortsighted minds no more, but cold, incomprehensibly the very thing that makes them shiver
Our spectacle is fervent, the truth is righteous and fair
The Other is death, the way onto failure; that we cannot share
The mark of life upon his brow, the way into some secret light
Who's bright star shines upon the infinitesimal canopy of the night
The distance great, we so small, so lost and so afraid
Down to where atoms form, this space is fabricated, long since premade
Our form condenses from nothing, yet thinks itself something; the ego must have its say
The short hours of our life, passing swiftly through our fingers, mere sand in the fading light of day