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coltscoach56
When summer rain, tackles the sun. Blinding the willing, and then again none. Directive span, stretching in the sand. From whom, will we demand, this lacking warmth. you may say, I have gone daft. that you may be right. Locked in this mental, waking frustration. what am I to do? sit and view the blond fool, who offers nothing but lies, for the willing. those who choose the reed, stretching to no where. only the fragile greed, of peace bought with the lives, gone then past, this i will not tolerate, this lying path. Now the rain is more tempting, drops big, hitting hard. these i can tolerate, pain no longer the choice, wet is better then knowing, that the blond mongrel has no regard.

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