The buzz of the accordion machine does not stop and certainly never wavers, it rattles the skull of every man for miles. We are too panicked to discover if it's playing from the sea, the sky or our own heads. We hear something similar to 'City Song' by 'Daughters', but the children have never heard anything as molestingly joyful. We are lost as one. They cannot stop laughing and we cannot stop being shot. They hear it in a different light and cannot stop dancing, maybe they are right. Our tongues knot when we try to tell them 'No'. There is no such warning anymore. We do not like the sound. The music machine is on wheels and is pinning the faces of our children into a state of endless smiling. It is eating away at the chambers of their hearts, the ones we did not yet have time to teach them of. They cannot stop laughing and we cannot stop being shot. We were all internally told we picked the wrong God at once, we were told to find the desert. The tiring wind occasionally asks us to pronounce 'YHWH' correctly and when we can't, we are shot. Death is becoming rhythmic, it's either that or it always was. We are cheating it only because it wills to let us. Our legs won't stop until we have exhausted every feasible outcome. We will not stop until we meet the Vitruvian Man. We will not stop until we are eating proportional ice cream in an eerily colourful shop, where the menus and signs say Rotterdam, Mogadishu... Will we ever find the right religion? Denying our zealous crusade, puts us further back in the line. When we run away, we can only turn right, causing us to blend in with equally blurred faces, the ones that are just further back in the shaven herd. Will we ever find this desert? I need to know. I need to know when my baby is hungry, It has been far too long since I last heard her cry. They cannot stop laughing and we, the adults cannot stop being shot. We are the mindless pilgrims, the drone of death.