No Such Thing.
Luck is made by the unshackled brave.
Bring forth the ghost of fear.
Shoot him down with synthesised speech, like this;
Realise all that surrounds YOU now is first perceived within you, then.
For you are the law within your own judiciary.
You are the light that illuminates your unborn incubus chasing him far, far, far.
You are your moon, your sun and your stars.
Look to it and so shall it actualise.
To yourself you can tell no lies.
Only future dreams... Future scenes of plenty.
So, fuck, luck.
Mould existence to your will.
Want no one else ill.
And be overjoyed at what already surrounds you now.
Come what may is what you allow.