The land and i are wandering in something like a whisper from a dreaming too far under the conscious voice of my mind
Vainly these eyes are leaving my substance there in a wakening
A balance will hammer me with some kind of certainty of the last made, to honor the transparency
This beating is the fragment of echoes destined for me
All i have is the impulse by one really lasting argue descended to refuse a day always on I
My tired nails thinking themselves into being as i am tracking the first story outliving the fear riding the cities as a draped cry that clusters the acknowledgement of memories against the early layers of intimate sunlight
It is a compromise of lips and heart
an autoplay backup out of an imitation