We fell out of the sky. Can't you feel it? We did, I swear it. And all the things we build, all the towers of metal and glass which try to touch the sky, they're just our way of trying to get back home. And we stole our voices from the angels, that's why we never hear from them, and why we raise our voice in song; we hope that someone will hear and that we'll be taken back into the home we left behind. And when we die, we try to return to that place; that's why we scatter our ashes to the wind. We try to make sense of the chaos, so everything's orderly, but if you look close enough, from the sky, the lights on the ground look like the stars.