How thin the line between what was and what will be, this little moment called the now, this razor’s edge we walk. I think my feet are bloody, but I know the fall is great. It’s dark and there’s no net below. The crowds are cheering all around. They gasp as I travers the sky. But there’s no earth below. Darkness waits with open mouth.
My feet are bleeding as I go;
I must be raining blood below,
but what will all these torments sow?
Into what sea does my life flow?
The then has gone, but what will come?
Tale Told 