a hallow game.

Tastes like old age. its getting hard to manage, sorted affairs of conversations. burned in the moment with spite and unassurance. Words placed in the circle, attacked by pigeons picking, at the little food they can salvage. When a feast is in front of their eyes. Interceptions of the heart, the loss of a play. Too hard to tell I have to say, the benefits reaped form the change of command. A dispute edge in sand, swiped away form the arrival of the band. Bland and mild interrelated situations revealed in the ears of ones who throw away their money. This arena is not funny, reproduced terms of disappointed, realigned with the flow of the day. Pure inspiration kept perfectly at bay. The wheels of the engine grinding the river of dreams, the bearings gaining energy form the minds set in predicaments, placed by the engineers of greed in these industries of vibrations. To feed an army of one angry, embittered man. As she rested she wondered if the moment was right. Through the night she gambled desires, that felt quite content Can we be blamed, for beige tasks, masked in hot pursuit. why grasp at the truth it's there through protected achieved perception proven as the principles of glory rejoice is it easy or a mess or much less for us an ending meet with not live a day as light or not the actions take their place regardless of our intentions our being endures with light no more weight of freight