we ride on the aftermathnnas a subtle way of looking past, we neglect our instinctnnand we live by the light of daynnto alleviate my own dismay i detain the processnnnnnnand everybody sounds their bestnnits the highbrow stream of consciousness nnin a looming primenndepending on the absence or the distance all the timennnnnnlove like intuitive alarmnna hail mary or a good luck charm dangled to clasp our interestnnand our faith lies in the deprived unknownnnyou know that no one want to be alone, die young or impurennnnnnand everybody sounds their bestnnits the highbrow stream of consciousnessnnin a looming primenndepending on the absence or the distancennand its a sad declinennintroverted romance in our troubled mindsnna trying pinenndepending on good fortune or coincidence all the time