I can't remember what's it like anymore. An endless string of waves, each rippling its own motion. Effects too overcast by the shadow of tomorrow. And I wait, another morning another tempo. The story sounds the same, its the rhythm that controls. The feet a movement call it your own tell its own story, let it unfold. The jack the mask its strewn on the ground. Sesame portraits and fellow scars ride, I stand amongst men, who've lost their will to fight.