“Look.” “What.” “That graffiti on that wall.” “So?” “Doesn't it remind you of the tiresome and almost endless sequence of illusions and disillusions otherwise known as life?” “You need help.” “Yes.”
So where's my phone call? I used to fear you, phone call. You know I didn't want to leave. Now everything's changed and I long for my phone call. Oh, phone call, where are you? I'll love that dark matter of yours, phone call, your dying galaxies, your nebulae, I'll do my best to please you, I promise. Just call me. Save me.
And I will lead my army right in the middle of final battle, The victory is upon us I will shout to them, and my voice will overwhelm the rumble of the clashing galaxies, and I will look at the endless battlefields, this fierce look of mine, and the roar of clanging swords will slowly approach me and then, at last, I will be content.
I have been setting up a very special fence to keep away all this useless drama from my life. But I'm changing my mind. Maybe I should keep away this useless life from my drama.