Ancient babies bare and breathless, caress the soft cumulus atmos. They fly on winged hopes and desires. Left to themselves nothing would change. After a century or so the grown ones came and swept the webs of the clouds with their teeth and tooth. They leveled the skies of the celestial beings. And never to be seen they dispersed amongst the threats of teeth bared to a 'nother world where moofflowers grew freely and sweet antidotes wafted in the winds.