While I made a batch of tortillas,
in the heaving air, a steam from my heavy ***
I thought there would aught to be a feeling made heavy
from students of flavor and feeling.
Wrapped up in husks and disposed of from dealings of life.

Like lead and lemon, mixed with hell, I dispelled how I felt.

And selled all hell had built up for me
Now I'm left all with *** knees and trees can't even make fruit.

Some would call it absolute, destute.