
She hasn't found it yet: thorns are blooming under the moon. But still, I feel them. And this rat pack leader feels them too. Nothing new under the moon. Even if it was, everything would still be the same. She likes to think she is immortal. She likes to think that we are. And that we would never desert you. But we are not so blind that we do not see that we are also blipless. The whole world is screaming at you, demanding more of your presence. And you want more, you want more, more, more. And morons like me are being shouted down. We need more snow on the moulin' morn, we need more dark, we need more night, we need more, we need nothing.