Shadows and flying feathers ride the hedonistic deaths tonight. The ghost tombs hide out at the torching streets of Sorbonne, while the wrath of time floods in sinking oceans. Careful to retreat for the time. In dreams we all troat but yet to overcome. Those who chase our goals will never succeed. In the present we run. In the present we forget. As the missing man risks his appearing: disappearing. Making up for our detours who we know, who we are and where we go. Never will we have payback for the backyards where young blood was spilt