Again the panic grips.
Clones from the frozen cells of rot-scented...

I recognized the vitriol.
There was blood on your hands...

That tribal instinct sits in the denial.
Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings...

I will deceive the immortality
in my inadequacy, between myself...

He was wading through the frozen pain
unhappy at himself...

The green hills are drinking
the clouds...

Priests of cave temple
go to sleep. Street urchins...

In last journey he wanted to have
a free run without rumors...

From the ramparts of a castle
a wallflower jumps...

Civil war:
Again you are visiting...

At the end of the thought
was sadness...

Fear of becoming sane
inherits the hate of earth...