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In A World Of Indigenous Fears, We're Off The Hook Just Like Fish In The Sea, So Innocent And So Fine On The Surface​​​.​​​.​​​. But In The End, Anarchy Grows Within Us With Baby Steps Since Our Birth, And Then We Explode With A Hundred Little Things We Hold On To​​​.​​​.​​​. Boom!

from In A World Of Indigenous Fears, We're Off The Hook Just Like Fish In The Sea, So Innocent And So Fine On The Surface​.​.​. But In The End, Anarchy Grows Within Us With Baby Steps Since Our Birth, And Then We Explode With A Hundred Little Things We Hold On To​.​.​. Boom! by Wings Of An Angel

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Wings Of An Angel Israel

My own identity feels like a construct, a collection of roles and personas worn like so many masks. Who am I, really?

Perhaps in the end, we are all just characters in someone else's novel, puppets dancing on strings we cannot see.
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