The red-stained lark
stitched his libretto...

I'm fed up with sadness and its death toll in this...

Tender pink petals,
Swaying at the slightest breeze...

Am I a bad person?
I didn't know it was trauma...

My hometown,
how I wish to make...

The fringes of my skin
are undeviating...

I always had a sweet tooth,
even at 19 years old...

Choices.
Both good and bad...

Father of Love...

Psychedelic paranoia flashes its furtive smile
upon my taken aback shoulder...

They fly around this sinning Earth,
Telling of Christ the newborn King...

we can only live for so long
on a scorched planet...