A home, the womb of rushing blood.
Of warm skin, soft fur, and kin.
From cascading waterfalls, to shattering earthquakes.
It all seems natural.
From destruction to existence.
From guns to claws.
We're all fighting for a piece of this home.
Blood through veins, blood seeping the ground.
The sole is dirtied by critters and crippling orders
We are hounds.
Hounds of torment and sound.
We'll cry rivers.
Dance explosions.
But at the end of it all, we're all left astounded by the beauty of this imperfect world.
