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|Drops are oracles, but why tremble for them?
They fear, but I cannot say so for sure why or for what purpose, for I am not sure of what I see, perceive or smell, or so it seems. I am only sure about the stars, but they are faint now, and they are becoming fainter all the time.
Drops never look back.
There it goes again; someone sent me a bullet.
Drops sometimes come in colour, like red.
Bloody Hell! a hole in my clothes, again.
Aha! A red one at last!
Stop pestering! I seem to be trying to think!
You can make a clock with drops, you know, but how peculiar, this bullet came from the wrong direction - Perhaps.
Anyway, after two weeks in that somewhere that is certainly not here, I had to face a decision. Stay there or here, and it seems that I preferred war to love, or what apparently is war to what apparently is love, or so it seems.
Drops are the physical evidence of the passage of time.
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