There are whispers in the eaves, leaves on the trees ... for now. They're going, going, your mind is gone. Who hears whispers from inanimate objects? Who even uses the word 'eaves' anymore? Crazy people, that's who. Are you crazy? Do you have moments of stark terror where you want to close your eyes so tightly that your head folds in on itself? Do you you wake in the middle of the night unsure of who, where, or what you are? Do you hear snippets of conversation and try to convince yourself they're not talking about you? See, crazy.
There are gentle whispers, though. Just as there are slight nudges from the wisp clouds. Come up here, the view's great. But you can't float, you crazy bastard. If you could, you would have cut the tether long ago. Let's not be foolish.
It's never going to work the same way for you as it does for them because you're not you and you're not you. People are gonna think that's a typo, but you can't control what other people think. If you could, there'd be a lot less war and a lot more singing. You know how many tambourines you can get for the price of one Murder Drone? A fucking lot.
Let's have a hootenanny.