Or is it war that's buried inside peace?
Either way, they leave each other alone.
One can hardly tell, in the elysium realm,
With its talking mushrooms and seven
Dimensional cats, that there’s a place
Where the people cry like animals, watching
The others get picked off one at a time
As they leave, children as cover, their rooms.
So much do these worlds want to touch
But it is better that they can’t,
For the songs would get in the way
Of the ones that they must play
In isolation, knowing they are there
On the other side of the wall
Almost hearing,
Almost close enough to dream them,
Who give a reason for their calls.
