Hope.
Watching concrete walls fly by, a soundtrack for this world is buzzing in your head. It’s fitting. The dull roar of the machine, smooth and powerful, there’s a comfort in the unknown. Ears pop, you wonder about the world outside and it comes into view. It’s a tired industrial world, all in slow motion. The trees are weary and colourless. The rest of the world is moving in routine, a well practiced dance they all know. A permanent shade of grey. Back underground, the machine comes to life, eager to leave, to escape the clutches of a dying land. There are flashes of colour, fields of green against stark grey skies.
Hope.
Written by me.
