Mask the haziness, foggy outlook cry.
The bench warmer splintered with splints of days gone by.
Crystalline the paper port to mount the crest with last resort.
A name, a reference of someone who belongs
In good years ,tasteless time seems to be cruelly bent.
In all sorts of privilege and upon opulence we vent.
Escape in rare demonstration of wit and cunning dare.
We trampled upon creed and cross with no care.
Convalescing universes, our quarrel destroyed.
Bickering and fighting against our own last ploy.
