Into this house, we're born. Into this world, we're thrown.

There's a killer on the road. His brain is squirmin' like a toad. Take a holiday. Let your children play. If you give this man a ride, sweet memory will die...There's a killer on the road. Girl you gotta love your man. Take him by the hand. Make him understand. The world on you depends, our life will never end. Girl, you gotta love your man. --Jim Morrison//The Doors

A wise man, he was. Jim Morrison, I mean. We are but, really, riders on the storm that is life. We're born into this house, and thrown into the world. And we're helpless to the killers on the road, and the loves to whom we must stay so true.
But if we let our guards down for even one second, something else will catch us in its grasp. Everything is swimming around us, trying not to get blown away in a gale, grabbing onto us for dear life, and only us, only you and only I can decide what we will let go of, and what we will hold even closer for warmth. And soon, there are so many of us together, being cast off into the storm, but so many of us can't all sail together forever, can we?
Some people keep us warmer than others, some people want us more. We're all a little helpless, submitted to the storm on which we can never stop sailing...