One day we will be painted in a different light. May this day come before my death. May we, with scrambled frontal lobes, run countries. The trees would be lined like long lazy rivers. Maybe we will let you see them too. May we, with banana fingers, break barriers. The lines in roads where bicycles brake will bend and blur. May we, the tragic ones, find freedom. The sky will be filled. I think, very soon, we will.