Shush, stop replaying echos of the past
they have been blown by the east winds
right to the cliffs of the angelic twists
and I stare at the window, as everything moves
like the sun never rose
and the moon never shone
never surrender to their voices
as the hollowed beats of their soul
is an empty sack of sarcastic laughter
founded by the foundlings of St Elizabeth
who litter the Aspire asylum with loathe
and the troops of their dusty bags vent
to the charcoaled hues of the ceiling
Where the castaways truly hide inspired
as emptiness get inhaled in the alveoli
to the dense of the unpenetrated amoeba
and they all get sick, in a dread of a century
Let’s run.....It’s the borbounic plague taking its toil