In this silence of existence, we linger in the moment
As praise becomes addictive, pleasure the message sent
We cannot see the disaster, it was designed for another day
As this world collapses in pieces, our innocence is slain
We have no choice but to surrender, and prepare to die
We've chosen to not remember, and children begin to cry
“You’re too young to remember it,” Verity's mother said, “but we were
expecting nuclear war all the time, really, up into my early thirties. Later,
all of that felt unreal. But the feeling that things became basically okay
turns out to have actually been what was unreal.” William Gibson
