Common Ground

You go for that ceremonial sound, the aloof mercy of its toll, and the wake behind closed doors. What if all of it here sunk to hunting and gathering again? Even a small town like that, sheltered by the idyll of the green vastness beyond its naive borders. The basic modes and nothing else to survive on due to some human error that has long become a household cliché. What would care be like? The man in black whom everyone knows mutters praise for the eternal soul, the incomprehensible extension of a loved one, and you dread its indifference to the ways of the world left behind for all the promises of that man, kept to a tittle.