line up realigned, blank canvases, in wait at the museum gates to brag/complain, it's all the same, you mummies will swallow your own dust and your permanent stay on display will go nowherevlest you forget we're all unraveling in idealism's bandages, twirling in it's cozy tomb, you'll succumb too, and all the reasons why you define what you choose will only make your fellow future relics hate you