I envy them, those who can't see. Those who know not, that they are not. And those who live, blithe and free, sins forgotten and thus absolved. A fresh dawn in their playground, while we live in shadows, swimming in ink. We are but a fragile dream, a singular weed, resisting, ever resisting. That iron dirt, that eternal law. Those who can't see. Those who know not, that they are not. Do you know? We are fellows. Those who know not, that they are not.