Well constructed visionary cries for help are not for you
My worn out wrinkles are not for you
I lost you I don't want my words to ever find your shadow
I found me and my words that I construct are for me
When the blood stained rooster awakes me in my nightmare
I mean to say that all the nonsense that I have written down might only make a bit of sense and a sack full of seeds to myself
So me myself and I can feel my words and my phrases
In their purest numbing extraction
These words are not for you