THOUGHTS FROM THE OVERGROWTH

Machine Stop

Dreams have faded.

The memories have blown away.

Visions only remain.

Dark spinning masses of faces invented by an amateur artist.

We've been here before.

We've reached this point before.

Where do we go?

After all that's gone.

The fall of our dreams has come.

Became our future, became our past.

Became illusions, became a trap.

Mirror of our past.

Time is lost.

No one is listening.

Only watching.

Our dreams have failed us.

Mirrors of ourselves.

Trapped.

Lost.

Forgotten.