Are we the tossed away ones, untouchable by hissed and missed sounds and by fates oft missed knock?
Be we man-husks? Are we the product of being puked up and out of a mother’s womb both a sin and a blessing? Are we the match of a mother’s cry of pain? Yet, we are still loved?
Sex without lust often creates a zygote equaling zero on a slanted/skewed number scale on both the (x) and the (y) axis. Zygote baby with thin points of less than zero and without a trace of a positive reason to live. Bless that Zygote before it bakes to human baby…
A modern sickness clings suction tight to the man-husk as strong as freezing snot clings to a frozen metal flagpole.
Travelers now somewhere tossed in time and alive somewhere near the center of dreams both dead and still alive. Air-breeders called by one god or the multitude of spacers that all at once claimed this place for their own sport and fun. We breed well and we number the many, soon to be destroyed or not slaughtered, because those once great warriors of old have since moved on to fight upon another world or died.
Air people still breath and dream and hope and live and die and remain in a strange yet familiar home. Air people have fought to be free, however, they still are but a notch in this eternal serfdom. And! Men should never die of age. These air-breeders must fight their way from existence into a proud and noble death; in battle and at war with…you pick an enemy.
Sail once again on dangerous seas where landfall is always just beyond that line where water meets the sky. To die at sea, is too a good death.
Anyway! We are Born-to-be-Wasted.
The wishmaster” from the “Wishmaster”…Nightwish