Spots in the Glass 

Music played, and people sang... Blind men among them as well. That is why I call them mine. The trails that they walk are theirs alone, I can't walk them myself. But through them... And through me, they catch glimpses of the worlds beyond.

Music played, and people sang... In their song, magic worked. It touched the hearts of the angels, and the angels were afraid. Baseless, visceral fear, they acted on it, but the magic wouldn't shatter. The people were free. The song was their own, and so were their choices.

Music played, and people sang... The wind listened, and blew in tune. The wind danced. The wind was happy. It spread the happiness of the song throughout the world, but nobody believed the wind. Its word wasn't enough. Men fled before the wind's dance, and cursed it.

Music played, and people sang... They sang, and were merry. Their merriness would spread, but there was no one to spread to, because they were alone. Together, yet alone. The truth was just too horrible to bear, so people sang. They sang to hide themselves, hide in plain sight. They sang, because not to sing would mean to cry.

Music played, and people sang... And the rain fell within the small confines of their world. Warm rain, cold rain, it didn't matter. It was their rain. When they closed their eyes, they could see the endless waters the rain came from, and the endless waters it fed. The waters that were life, and the waters that washed the death away.

Music played, and people sang... The song filled their senses. The song carried their spirits away, and they were reborn as they died.

What a lie.