Why do we all stand here, when the world is burning around us?
I stand at the door
What am I waiting for?
A whisper or a breath
To tell me to carry on?
Carry on, carry on.
Yet, when the world tells you to carry on,
You stop
And wait
For what?
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous Roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars" - Jack Kerouac
