Monday morning and there are shadows being painted onto the walls. Ghosts who's spirits shall never leave, imprisoned upon this wall forever. To watch, but never act. To exist but to never live. To see but to never express the life they watch passing by like a stone to a passing river. Their only ability is to watch. As the children run past, as the lovers pose for a photo, as grown ups rush on past too imprisoned themselves to stop and see. Monday morning, lately it's just like every other morning. Watch the shadows slip off the wall and fly away. Fly away.