they wanna se us cut it so desperately, we were almost provided with explosives. if they picture us together, it’s always with one of us holding scissors and successfully cutting the cord that ties us. “let it go”. but it is not umbilical. it is not skin nor self assurance. it’s diamonds and it’s alive. it’s blood and it connects our chests. every single artifact failed, like the iron scissors. and may all keep failing miserably in front of this public hungry for a funeral. you all are here to win, but we are on this earth for shared beats and teeth.