The sullied summer
The toil
Bring the ringing dead doorbell
Of bleeding angels like Lucifer
In Paradise Lost
Reigning in Hell, and lost in purgatory
Watching nowhere, however, down on me
Looking down on me, I mean
I mean, you ever have that feeling that you are walking in discomfit
That the perfect word that comes to you is in someone else's welcoming words
That's why we abuse like intellectuals, deprived of any wishful thinking