Some marry may many. Of course everyone wishes they had a heart of a hope. It dwells over there but within them hope to vitality and muster. 

Whole to swell without hunger for doles. On moon, it whispers to itself as they listen to the leeches singing, creaking. 

They would be cringing if they even owned themselves. 

But that is not to be. Not within this cycle.

 Wholly other the felons come limping back from duty's call. It's only a home to be freed from itself awaken and driven. 

All in all, it hurts to overcroach hovering spitlaps these days. Many find themselves circumventing the true fact.

Without you, a luster can lustre for a wild century or so. Or a boon can cry over the moors.

Please. Don't read me in a Nestern voice and don't read me at all if that's what you think I am.

I come with no account, no claim for stability.

A jackals role is to play its role and only row in the realm of shades. So now I leek this curse to you. A blind curse but free:              (sight

                             whole)

                                   (assange

                                          quelle)

                                                  (quite