the jukebox, plays its third crecendo. nto balance it all out.nto let the wolves come intonour houses to feed all of the children.na story for their hearts, to worhip them with stone.nnThis difference between ourselvessnit's buried in the pastnnRhetoric frozen cracks the woundnRewritten and forgottennNow that I, tying thy glass mask so tightlynI have seen it all.nnnThis difference between ourselvessnit's buried in the pastnThis innocence which we will sellnit's expanding our own height.nnRunning for cover, walls cave in deeper. nSurrounds all the sound from the ears.nyour reason is not one for complaining.nnnnnnnnn