And everyone's hair was lit under patches of waternI stood there and watched themnI watched as the sad sparkle slowly waverednI saw them as they gazed upon the inverted night skynPinpoints of nothingness set against a grand backdrop of that ever familiar, half-hearted luminescencenThe thick silver blotches sprawled out before them, standing there on the hillnFor once the light was stronger than the darknessnFor once the fabricated finales so eagerly devoured almost daily were not necessary, or were at least not necessarily fabricatednI wonder if you realised thisnyou must have, for it was in that moment you chose to sell your soul to godnFor it was in that moment, and that one illuminated moment only, when he really and truly held more to offer you than the devil.nnThe next night, things were differentnThe hair wavered as I watched itnJumped from one place to the nextnAnd I watched the little red lights flicknOn and off all over my worldnYou claim you never saw themnI wondered why would you lie like that?nThey were real, weren't they?nWere they though?nOr were they just as fake as that power you sought the night before, that joy, that vindicationnFor now, between the red blurs, when the focus stayed, it was fixed on the usual scenerynThose devilish pinpoints had overgrown the godly blotchesnAnd you realised, I think, as you stood again in her hand on the hill; you realised that you were wrongnHow fruitless it was to trust such an intangible, unfeasible, meaningless idealnYou sold your soul to god, and perhaps a new star shines for itnA step closer to that inversion, yesnBut at the same time fifty more... extinguishednMaybe only one of them seennBut gone all the same