Why were their lives such a travesty? After all, what were they doing there? In that house on that hill. Is there a goal? was there ever a goal? Toiling day after day, just like all the rest. After all, what makes you so special? do the woman croon? Do the boys gawk? as you pass by on the street? Does the sheer effervescent power of your voice make them turn their heads, dropping the hands of their others, so eager to run to you, so eager to hear your tales?

WHAT.