Amos was tired. Tired of conformities, tired of expectations. Why couldn’t people just do what they wanted? It was like the whole world was trapped in a glass box; they could see what they wanted, but didn’t want to take the chance and break the norm.
He walked down the dark, empty street, guitar slung on his back. He stopped at an apartment building and looked up.
Geez, he thought, there must be thousands of windows up there. But only half of them are dark. They’re all awake, restless.

God, I wish I could rest.

He sat down on a corner wall, caressing his guitar. Other than its warm wood, a lone streetlight next to him and the sleeping street, he was alone.
He wish that he could just call out to all those restless people, and they could all smash the conformities of society.
Then they could all rest easily.
Even the lonely ones.

“Thousand empty windows, and only half the lights are out…“