The ghosts do not speak our language, trails of fire lead us to ruin, we stay eye on the leader, the route is simple if we keep the heading. Hard to turn, to see the truth of whats become of this place, many have grown up from the earth, only to be splayed up by the sickle of progress. Nothing sings or speaks to us anymore, our ears bleed with the sound of emptiness. If we turn to face the circle, if we sit and listen, a new path will ring clear, shattering the space between, us and them.
– Josh Fleming
Image by: Valerio Vittozi