Once apon a time you, and all your kind lived under bridges, and had ridges as ribs that dropped off into a empty chest as if your hearts are stolen treasures. While you hid under bridges this world above invented the wheel as you stayed put, knowing it would one day roll on top of you in need to get where it was going. You began to brood over humanity and made meals of our hope as if crushing our spirit will make mirrors reflect better pictures than what they gave, as if the only way to save yourself is to make the world ugly so nobody will notice you hiding in it.