Near-endless rows of red chairs. What secrets are absorbed in their thick fabric, along with so much sweat and dead hair? We are merely two of millions. What care has the carriage for us? Our relationship is fleeting, yet without it we might not survive. What care has the carriage for our woes? Vessels carrying vessels, it is a cycle we are unable to break, for now. Are we desirable? What if we cease tomorrow? I may try. I will do no such thing.
This track is our rock. Less exertion on the muscles, but comparable views. A darn sight more chimneys, perhaps. But hard to begrudge others of heat.
Again, with the long deep dark in place of the ground. Rows upon rows of... inanimate beasts. Not monsters. Not now. We are joined by more vessels. Countless. Just so much sweat and dead hair.
Green. Green. Brown. Green. Green. Green. There is an undeniable beauty in nature, yet I cannot describe it now. Passing through. There is no time to lose? A task for the wicked, not the pure of heart. On the contrary, time can only be lost. We must not win.