With the rise of a new world order, policy proliferates; a new life is born. A dystopian wasteland of perfect ideals and imperfect results. Headless men are not fit to lead, just as the bled are unfit to bleed. We live in an automated metropolis suspended in disbelief. Production lines develop priority above that which breathes, and the wealth amongst the richest is continuously flaunted. This is a world of cold men, and even colder dreams. An ebbing mass of flesh perpetually erased. At fault lies a knotted clot of salacious nods and iniquitous praise. Insidious hands sire peerless dismay. These words are an asperous draft of a world to come if a continual descent betides. You ought to grant purpose to thought, lest we be forced to bed our own graves in woe. Bring color to the bare. Enable thyself and let defiance bloom.