My sticks crumble
A burning thatch house in this world of wonder
Where one wander through thoughts till they churn asunder
In wrathful thunder, pause
I stumble
What blunder led me to this forsaken maze I wonder?
Nightscape's when they hydrate and we scrape the rest off the cealing
Three headed dogs apple snakes
Just to escape the feeling
A grievant sin that double as healing
And that one kid with matches, God, he's scheming
So are we ants for a meaning?
Or like plants withered with seasons?
Plasticine, do we fold into deamons?
God's speed son
It's a lonely one
So you better stack
I hear they're packing guns.