Cast upon the steel of frozen rivers
was the cascaded ebbs that be.

Harmony on hill and boughs
blow about in wind that I can't see.

Edging on the hills
were trails carved of old.

I wish I was a King from the east.
In the west, I wish I had his gold.

Solemn works is just sticky words.

I'm sorry that I'm absurd.

I hate brittle air

and

I hate bearing palps of air and stuff
I hate gruff
I hate air
I hate staring,


I'm sorry sorry sorry sorry for brittle built beings.

I hate the journey, and I hate what they see

they said, "it always gets better."
but
he was
my
"better"