We who are waiting flow
In the middle of shadows
Washed masses yearning to be free

We spread and move apart yet together
No centre holds no balance
We slip the walls of our cell

There is no time but time passes
There is another prison in front of us
A circle without end

Icarus fell before he flew
I fall into this cell chosen by death
Waiting the long nine months

Josh MacLeod, 2001.