you said 'the cinders are falling like snow'.there is poetry in despair, and we sang with unrivaled beauty bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.of blue and grey.strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved our names into the flesh of the city.the sun had stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon, and the darkness is a mystery of curves and lines.still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outwards, and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation scratched into the earth like a message.

-AFI