A tidal wave is forming, with the power of a hundred thousand voices pushing forward, screaming endlessly, rejecting simple choices they've been given, racing onward to the shoreline to embrace new a day coming, when the status quo is washed away. They dream about a better day, when power falls to better hands. No longer can their small demands be silenced. A dream of calmer waters, after blood gets washed away. A dream that won't come true unless their voices remain loud and strong, the crowd moves on, but soon they're dashed upon the shore. They cause destruction in their wake, but they're gone, and in their place is just a bigger wreck than what they started shouting to correct, but the worst of all that happened were the few who were the loudest. Suddenly they changed their voices, redirected all their prowess to become what they once hated, and the people call it progress. They oppress. They distress. They transgress. They confess. The cycle starts anew but with a different set of voices. The only ones who really hurt are the voiceless.