themidnightcafe☂ and then they woke up and realized the entire century was a template and breeding ground for fakers. they poured out whatever they were drinking. they sat around on roman couches and siberian rugs, rubbing their eyelids, smoking pixie sticks and never feeling the same.

So what is this politics? What incidents of grim nature, not in blood spilt, but cause behind such spilt blood, say about these minds? What is our agenda, so burnt and collapsing under the weight of quips. Not quo, but simple wit and suit style. When Berlin marched, and fists were held in time with our feet. Our party of socialism and the rise of democracy. Whose flesh is colored blue, as a free sky. When free meant a steel helmet put aside and a crooked smile on Hamburgs hat. Why did you die my sweet heart, your beating was the anthem of this now dirty country. We are not fighters of sex or slaves. Or street fighting at that. We are not angels of a nation, carrying bricks on our backs to build a golden empire. Our heroes are long gone replaced with the face of shit. Pure, uncompromising shit. Faces sworn off from good and only opening eyes for something worth nothing. Our royal dynasties weep now with the poster of glory we have written, “WE ARE SOULESS AND BLANK, WE ARE MOULDLESS AND DANK.” Our brandy is our water, and our calm is our chaos. How then can we fill our cups with strenth when there is no more to be found? The only blood spilt is sympathy and charity, not a mobilization of truth. Fredrick said his hair stood on its ends with he thought of failure. Ann reached for his fingers, wrapped them in her own, and said “Dont be afraid, what you fear has already come, we can only go up from here.” This is what Paul Levi thought as he looked into our grand world. This is what he saw.