The Last Roll of the Dice Not Taken
There is that hope with feathers but my hope looks a bit like a scraggly chicken, one eye pecked out and a mangy rash on its neck, desperately foraging for seed amongst the rubble.
There is that hope with feathers but my hope looks a bit like a scraggly chicken, one eye pecked out and a mangy rash on its neck, desperately foraging for seed amongst the rubble.
People stop believing in permanence because permanence stopped believing in them.