It's like rain.

The world is simple. You are here and the blood-speckled fruit of it
Falls between us.

If you think it's like rain then it's like rain.
If you've been abused--I am sorry-- and you think its like cruel
Empires, then, that makes sense, too.

I am am trying to unconditionally talk you away from the edge of Everything.

But this is all new to me.

The world is simple.  The safe and poisonous berries in  our ordinance all look alike.
We gather them and consume them intuitively.

We know the seasons, and we hear our favorite songs sung in the air.

The world is on fire, and its backbeam is begging to give in.