Another day of grey rain is tracking tears down the window. I suppose it is in its nature to bring about a strange strain of self reflection.
To each a multitude of messiahs
Our disciples cloaked in silk and rags
Hungry for glimpses of some ignoble life
Starving for the scraps of slander
We follow and are followed
A fragile veneer of sepia filters
Cover the momentary mundane
Superb realism in the unreality
Truths built on a multitude of lies
We follow and are followed
