Lyseachearolt

Lyseachearolt be their name, twins of the same flesh and game. one with legs, one with heart; be they forced together and death do them part. Fixed emotion, stagnant freewill; machine by nature, harder to kill. Worrisome, weary; staggering, stout; together, one move, one step, one pout. Harder to feel, than feel the floor; with no love, one silent roar. Why be here if here is not there? Happiness won’t come if there is no share. Away with this heart, for what is the gain? Not worth surviving for only more pain. Anguish no more with one last beat, as they both fall to their feet. Lyseachearolt be their name, twins of the same flesh and game. But how can you play when you cannot speak; cannot hear and cannot seek? And how could heart feel without control, while legs walked with no soul. Lyseachearolt, without heart, will never be what one calls art.