Yes, world, our instruments scream, We are here. There is nothing but the field beneath our feet now, as we set ourselves, digging in to lock horns with the world. Our instruments gleam like stars and jewels, every dent and scratch a badge of honor with a story to tell. The majors stand like gods on their podiums. The music begins slowly.
Every step is counted.
Then we release the hurricanes that howl for freedom in our lungs. Our music smashes the air like fists of iron, our legs move like great black pistons. We are halfway to the end of our last minutes of true life now. We pause silently. We rest our burning lungs.