The sun has left. The windows are no retrieval for light, anymore. If you escape the pokes will get you now, you closet scum now! You don't even know your future.
'You'll be in a dark place for hours long. You'll be staring at shadows. It'll be day, or night? You'll question this as you're guided down the road. And when the car slips... We know the circus clowns begin when? Your sight is taken to another land, questioning the very walls for your answers.
Welcome to inside the windmill. Crazy clowns when? Where? Are you in your hotel cell? Are you dying? Are you going to stop the razor sharp edge of a laser poking down the wall into your friend's forehead? Will you see him die?
Will his cancer get you too? Like your cancer cells?