I knew that the road was crossed through an entanglement of pressures.
The sky had been blue for an eternity, today it was sickly gray.
Today was not just a day today, it was a day of extreme modesty.
Tangled up in the confusion of morality, puzzle pieces twisted and confined.
Upon the road made of thorns, lay the unravelling truth.
Sticks and bouldering stones change through chance, they move like an unstoppable force.
I believe that when fate twists, the pulp of life shows its true colors.
The true path follows the enlightened, only with periodical consequences.
The most questionable question is not roads, it’s what we gained in the fog.