Rebecca Cullen, Some Build Castles, Acoustic, Folk, Soul, Triphop

From where the thought first came, a misty, dark, yet homely corner, among vultures engaged in drinking and conversations of who and where.. from this very place, a small frame with a limitless mind, sober and sobering, barely contained in the most human of skin and clothes and colours, outwardly pondered – why? It could not have come at a better time, though this would still be true if again it had not come for several hundred years. If it is not you who speaks, it is no one. Eyes turned towards the anomaly, eyes rolled, infact, and silence ensued. Who are you to question the way we are? Who are you to turn these tables over, after we have worked and slaved and strained to lay them so? No reply is necessary, nor is it expected. Let silence follow silence, words will follow words, life will follow meaning, change will follow volume, and power, but.. power.. not being important, not being a thing at all, for we do not like to discuss it, should nevertheless be known to belong with all. Either this, or let it dissolve away into the abyss. Into nothingness. The drink is irrelevant when all sees all alike. But what is it we must escape from in these restless times.. these times themselves, our place within them, or fear of what comes next?

From where the thought first came, a crowded room, so much at stake, so little of worth. So many things occurring and so much noise, yet nothing.. nothing actually happening, at all. This is where the future begins. It is cold and it is warm here, we are right and we are wrong, we are bored but we are passionate and there is nothing, and everything, holding us back.