Lions and tigers in dens are chronically suicidal when a nightmare is all there is in this prison. The sky is so blue and free when it's the dream in this home to roam, flying with winds and breezes. The certain nightmare comes and goes, here and there, opening up the wounds again with a bubble of non loved life, now and again and again. It will never end. Lions and tigers in dens are chronically suicidal, once in a while remembered. They live on to become the kings and queens of jungles, once free from the prison. Say human stories told while looking at the blue so blue sky through oddly shaped prison bars, or being free. It will never end. In my hurt hands, there is no power. To change the world, to rule it, to clean it, to share it. In our hands, there is the power to be and make happy. It will never end.