<div align="center">Beats Antique - Revival (Official Video) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_SA_kvN3pVk#ws)</div><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;">Walk with me, if you will, upon streets once cobbled and paved over with time; through a city that's held in a realm of eternal gray.  The sun never shines here, the clouds never leave.  Sometimes it rains, sometimes it drizzles and when it does it is as if all the misery in the world collects itself in the heavens only to return, to continue the viscous cycle.  It is perpetual, it is unending.  It is drab, it is gray and what colors....they're dark.  Even the blooms in the window-boxes seem out of place here, softer, darker as if viewed through smoke colored glasses.  Welcome to Wonderland.  <br/><br/>Welcome to the world on the other side of the Looking Glass.<br/><br/>You never know who, or what, is going to be looking back at you.<br/><br/>Trash lines the streets and grimy shop windows are full of discount signs, announcing sales for things that are going out of business and simply out of style.  Moss grows freely in the gutters and toadstools bloom from sewer grates and the buses run slow, full of victims, their hands pressed against the smooth glass, their faces contorted in pleasure...and in pain.  For the predators are on the buses, unassuming, hidden behind newspapers and cell phones, behind books and smiling eyes.<br/><br/>The predators are on the streets, too.<br/><br/>From the whore on the corner, with her glassy eyes and too sharp teeth; her nails as red as blood.  Don't follow her home.  Don't go listen to their screams.  Don't go listen to hers.  And the bum on the sidewalk, Hatter's man to be sure, who rattles his change and gives a pat in thanks to all who offer their aid.  But don't look at him.  Don't look too long or you might recognize him later when that corner's taken you into an alley instead of further down the street.  Always look back.  It's when you look ahead that they get you.<br/><br/>There's carriers too, fleet men, thin, always in a hurry with somewhere to go, some package to deliver, heedless of who they might run into on the way, with bikes that seem to breeze by as if they flew.  Never late, always on time.  No.  Never that.  We can't be late.  We mustn't.<br/><br/>You can sell your soul here, you can trade it for a dime.  You can lose it on a bet and never know at the time.  It's a place of muchness and more, of memory and mice.  In the walls and in the floor, inching along the sidewalk quick for anything that might fall but even they have somewhere to go.  It's a place of sharks and there's blood on the water and on the walls and on her hands when she screams, when she fights and when she falls.  You're only safe when you ignore it.  <em>If</em> you can.<br/><br/>Innocence isn't possible here in Wonderland.</span></div><br/>