The supposed lines drawn by the guides
Are we supposed to stay within that premise?
The conversations with them may sound wrong
All their abbreviated feelings inadequate
Being deliberately cryptic about them
When there are roads you can choose to travel
Why ask them for directions?
Across the lengthy passageways and dark caverns
The premise through which you are guided
A feeling of dispiritedness creeps in easy
Where layers of history decompose
Time will be there, but you won’t last
Let there be no boundaries drawn in haste