There's a calling bird on the windowsill keeping time with the clock. Somewhere in the distance the last light in the city has just turned off. I should depart too, but my mind is ill at ease. Something tells me things will never change, not for me, only for everything around me, the things I've known and come to count on. This dull ache will never go away. I have plans, but I cannot endure the steps along the way, the roads that lead to happiness are too long and too strange. I spin in circles. I don't want to keep playing this game, yet I'm tied here by an invisible chain. For them, for them. How long can you exist this way?