I open my hand near an uncaring sea,
in hopes of a glimpse of what never can be.
Red tinged visions which burned my eyes,
is a stark revelation of these fluidic lies.

"Isn’t it over" I heard them all cry,
we must stop it now lest the reason should fly.
For if chance gives us promise and in winning we've lost,
then we'll all gasp for breath in a fluidic frost.

So we preach what is even, or its paranoid twin,
then gather up heaven in search of a sin.
But even if honest , do we still have the right,
to move toward the edge of that fluidic night.

So give me an answer, do we stand and thus fall,
and get lost in the voice of the fanatics call.
Then to stomp our bare feet without reason or rhyme,
so soon to be mired in fluidic time.