The ticking in our throats—a bomb waiting to speak its mind. The slow demolition of democracy—a clairvoyance that failed to warn us of this ruin. The collected bones of bondage—a body besieged by continually pain. The tardy saints of our growing daze—a purple haze longing for better days. The increasing number of our choices gone astray—a world whose moral compass is pointed towards self-annihilation. The ticking in our throats—a voice yearning to be heard before time runs dry.