What if, for just a day, we could be pigeons? Sometimes one moment in time can take on such an important significance that it becomes an endless world unto itself and everything outside of thaty moment, past and future spots in time, become the folklore of the world.
Ultimately, as quickly as our world blooms, our world is discordant, and our pigeons are wounded, and as our world dies, we die, and we are extinct. If only we could kill ourselves over and over until we get it right.
So just as an entire genre of music can be born out of one sped up ten second breakbeat, a full symphony orchestra can come together in harmonic unison to create that perfect moment in time, thus every moment can give birth to an entirely new world, and every world can house the perfect moment, and just as that breakbeat may be broken beyond any recognition, that orchestra may combine to bring forth a dissonant barrage of colossal sorrow, and so the moment disintegrates it's world and that world suffocates the moment under it's collapse.