A poem by Fisher kel Tath. "Will you come and tell me when the music endsWhen the musicians are swallowed in flamesEvery instrument blackening and crumbling to ashWhen the dancers stumble and sprawl their diseased limbsrotting off and twitching the skin sloughing awayWill you come and tell me when the music endsWhen the stars we pushed into the sky loose their roarsAnd the clouds we built into visible rage do now explodeWhen the bright princes of privilege march past with dead smilesFalling from their faces a host of deceiving masksWill you come and tell me when the music endsWhen reason sinks into the morass of superstitionWaging a war of ten thousand armies stung to the lashWhen we stop looking up even as we begin our mad runningInto stupidity's nothingness with heavenly choirs screaming