We are the deepest grey.
We have many notions.
Everything we hear, we ***** slowly.
Just as it isn’t, misted by hate and love.
We are cruel, compulsive liars.
The heart of a giant peasant, circular.
We never meditate to ourselves.
They are dull and bland. We refuse to look at them.
We try not to think about them.
Hands and sun bring us together.
Later we will be mountains.
Man looks up at us.
Wishing he could be us.
He turns to the truth, bulbs and stars.
He looks at us, we shove it in his face.
He smiles, he will never leave.
We mean nothing to him.
At night, his face brings the dark.
Within himself he saved an old man, and a young damsel.
Sink within him year before year, as if they were yellow submarines.