Stuck
Indoors
Inside
Stuck
Locked in a cocoon
They've taken eighty-one hundred polls from the people
Near and wide
But we are still out of control
A census gone rogue
Lost in space like our ancestors, and forefathers before them
We are full
Filled to the brim
With a need for adventure
A need for sole victory
A symphony without song
A song without music
8100: the angels number
Of connecting
Of relationship
But we are quarantined alone, together
You can find us searching the cosmos
Looking for answers
Looking for purpose
Looking for ourselves
Looking for a melody