For Every Eylet An Eye

I do not know what it means to be a Saint ugliness is the mark worn on a grumpy face midget – cursed otherwise… a word which no grace the archetype of a blind guess Shape always begins with a simple say encircles imagination by spiders web in kind of oblivion that holds morgue slabs and bears everything in a clenched hand But there are beautiful creatures around the earth there haven glows for them over the deepest night and here for all and sundry with no exception believers will count for every tooth two fangs for every eyelet an smoking eye