I can see that time has come to recreate this desperate conscience. Give up all our strength to change. Make up reasons why we failed at this before. We’ve cut our hands and knees crawling in the foundation of a massive machine. We are crawling here unaware that we rest beside the machine's open heart. We focus on our pain, unaware of our function or potential. Failure’s certain. That’s the motto that we live by. We can’t win. Failure’s certain when we blind ourselves with fiction to ease our minds. Failure’s certain. We won’t fight it because it’s common. We can’t win. Emotion maims. We dry our eyes. We are faceless. In times like these we can not hide. Fend for ourselves and commend outright homicide. We are weapons, and gears that turn in that machine. It gives us reason. This is needed. This is natural. This is basic. This is cleansing. Something’s wrong. I can’t breath. I can’t think. I can’t cry. I can see that time has come to recreate this desperate conscience. Give up all our strength to change. I can see in most of us that desperation. There’s something wrong when I can’t breathe. When I can’t think, and I can’t cry, it’s gone too far. We have never had control. But I see hope in this desperation, the machine’s device, power to set change in motion.