Gripping Mists,
Shining Fists,
Gravel shot pounded down to eye.
Gripping fits of delusions and clowns.
False love,
Jewels of faith litter the ground.
Bits of children gather round.
Pick him up! Pick him up!
The wrinkled, aged man,
with his outstretched hand,
muffles the arid land,
Walk on by and watch him drown. |
