But wishing never helps, wishing never helps, wishing never solved a thing.
I've found something beautiful.
What a talented beast.

Sitting before you is not a man, but merely a cracked shell,
A shell of the lightest pastels to the darkest hues,
Housing burning reds, spirited greens and muted blues,
with no motive, reason, or rational behind his ways,
Except to desaturate worlds and leave completely unphased, do not be amazed, for Colour Bandits have no morals these days.
They’ll extract until colour no longer crosses against their path, laughing sweetly as they make luminosity feel their calm, evasive wrath. Head to toe in matte, for which is almost completely unmatched.
Apart from a spectrum, so brilliantly and viciously dispatched.

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