Born again, did I wish to be a child again, once more at the mercy of a stranger upon another plain. In time the gruelling struggle to adulthood full of anxiety and pain in a future complication. In time where a weather vein, East, West, North or South life or death, what of future society, too busy to look or listen to a million cries of children pained.
Mothers and fathers and the dying cynicism of the no longer sages in their time, but controlling of every facet in their decline. So move on, a vibration curtail, the revival of perpetual misery where a sun comes up and then goes down but is intimately unaware of our unauthorised existence.