And they walk the abandoned fields of brittled regret with every single blade of grass that is bent so softly beneath their fragile steps, whispering a simple song of redemption and swaying like a lullaby in the sincere breeze of hope that this generation will keep their promises to the wide eyed babies that cry too long in their restless sleep, waiting for comfort that it always is so close but never in reach. Let the house fall down and the chimney crumble