A closed book is forever sealing all that once was.
Keeping all stories sealed front to back.
What was written is now history in the timeless mind of your past.
Every word wrote will be the stain on the walls built to crumble.
Every piece that fell will break through the thin paper on which we write.
All that was held in the hands of the trembling man.
Was the blood that bled on the pages of the past.
The blood that stained your broken walls.
The everything he wanted to be was written in ink for he had no blood left to write.
These pages are the key to a past and a story of the almost that never was.