all that we've ever been, everything we ever were, all that we ever had will fade into dust. half remembered, our nightmare reality is a torn photograph, forgotten and lost. but we will find ourselves again at the end of the night. we're the hopeless dreamers, the hopefully destitute. these hours arre ours, abandoned, alone, blurred into days. what exists here - f***** and blurry, beyond repair - we have no hesitation to call home: our broken boulevards. this endures more than time itself. it beats repeating. this is of which we dream, of whom we fear. of locked doors and ravaged dreams. of walking death and ticking clocks. our nightmares: our piece de resistance