We've reached the place where screams aren't heard. You'd think they'd build into a din, but one can't grasp a single word. It has become silent as sin. The angry words are shot to black - that inky void that's unpatrolled, It's silent, yet all're struck by flak. Still, no one admits being sold. But each life 's a product consumed. They wail away the night and day, pretending they're not rightly doomed. Some will say that it's here to stay... True, but are we?