All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.
Humans were not to be toyed with, they were to be respected.
Does it really take a full 9–5 to get our tasks done? Or … do we just “push paper,” masquerading as being productive while we are merely just running down the clock?
George Benson's 'This Masquerade' is my favorite version of Leon Russell's blue gem.
And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in a masquerade.