Mundane from Æternity by Karcass The Unknown Artist

The air becomes stagnant and the clock should have been wound long ago. The dust settles and with each dying day it blesses the surfaces of your life with another coat of grimy old dust. It’s mark leaving a scar on your mind. Festering and boiling at the back of your brain, damning you with a pain worse than any other imaginable. Everything is happening, as it will always happen and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The trains run on time and lest you throw your body out in front of it, you will not affect its synchronicity.
You are powerless, or so it would seem. You are completely helpless, or else you would think. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, do you writhe in torment in your state of inertia? Or have you grown to enjoy it? Have you delved into the fraternity of vegetation? Have you grown roots and spread leaves, only requiring the bare minimum of sustenance?
Well if your path would be the latter, I have some rather unsettling news for you. The workings of man are stuck in its ways, but the ways of the world, nay, the ways of our universe are ruled by anarchy.
A hurricane is on its approach to uproot your comfort in this stagnant hell. As I await its coming with baited breath, I pray your roots hold true.

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