This seems bad

Sebastian here. Leo, are you still in jail? Horace, where are you? Even if you feel it's best to let the silence speak, I would like to know where you are.

I have almost finished mastering our album. I think it is OK. Perhaps the guitars are too loud on some songs, and I could have made some of your vocals, Leo, take up a little more presence in the mix. But... I'm tired of doing this. I hope people read the lyrics. That's where the action happens and all the magma comes out.

All of you people with your hearts in knots: there is water dripping somewhere nearby. There are muscled animals grazing. But this is all imperfect, and I hope you know that.

Ah, I can feel the soul in me, how it is so separate from the soul in you and so like it.

Pull the webs from my eyelids. There is breath on my face and the frost melts. Smile marks appear.

I have been a long time walking these roads of the heart, which wind like pythons around us and through us worm-like. I have seen things dark and heavy, and you have felt them to be right and light and warmth. And you have been wrong.

I wish there would be a judge. I wish there would be a leveller. I wish there would be someone. God! Let there be someone. Is there any feeling better than salvation?

No. There is not.

I would weep if I could for this people, for these generations milling around us. Oh, my neighbors. You are wandering and coughing and shaking your coats accidentally.

Look up! Your chin. Tilt it the other way, to the sky.

Somewhere the people of Nineveh are putting down their newspapers and standing up from the breakfast table.

Arising. This is the first sign.

Oh, my neighbors.