Hands to reach out for, skies nearing my blues.
Art of enemy screaming down by my muse,
This has to become my scream of abuse. Did I
Ever not walk a mile in your shoes? have I lost your
Faithfulness by gathering to one’s fathers bruise?
Under no dwell, to commit freedom’s swell, shall I miss your cues.
Let me run, let me go. To a story to tell about the who’s.
Love is my seventh sin,
Only to shimmer in the light of stars,
Variety of victorious wars, for I shall kiss, for I shall learn the –
Endless of wooing from the begin.