Everything's broken. Death and disease. Drying eyes does nothing. They still cry, still scream. Do we curse our hearts that are made of stone, or eyes for the terrible things we see? We're raising our fists to the sky. We have no answers to this mess. We need Word in flesh. We're raising our fists to the sky. A lack of creating. A lack of relating. We live. We build. We live. We build. Filthy made perfect. Dying and living. We want to become, become one. We have no answers to this mess. We want to become, become one. We need Word in Flesh.
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Meeting of the Mimes 
