We absorb the pleasures as we ignore the post.
The frenzied time,
a placid mind,
of which is worst.
Rotten truths reek right as lies,
as death, as dead, decayed effect.
How now the freshness of the breath,
is green as gang beneath the flesh,
life withered wrongfully
by the common custom song,
sung by societies upon vitalities gone.
Send me a sound much greater than thine,
found only through the ethosphere.
Breathe me a life cloudy with substance,
not clear with bright despair.
Hate me in ways I can only remember
as faux smiles mixed with care.
Love me in ways forgotten and fade,
withal live without the fear.
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