Epilogue: A sound off from simple people with simple theories.
F***ing up, but articulate, with a feeble grasp of arithmetic.
Fueled by false determination, and the final breath of a declining nation.
Where do you think that the remedy is? And why do you think it even exists?

This building is falling down.

Paradox: A nodding off from imploding circles with no direction.
Take a look in the f***ing mirror, and ask yourself who the enemy is.
Last call at the gas pump. Last call at the water pump.
Who do you think are your f***ing friends?
Who do you think are your f***ing friends?