against the immense triumph there is freedom
shaped by the mire of fencing at its best
most of life is but a test
tragedy in its commodity
we travels so far not to turn back now
can't turn around when your hands to the plough
I cry out for magic in the instant of your success
crafted by the memory of your dear mainstream
letting go of all noise we search for words

the fighting is the hardest part
with words apart
we dig deeper then ever before
so you shop at the diamond store
with words to explore awe so much more