Another's garden tending to another
Washing their bougainvillea and their chrysanthemums
Like forests burning arboreal
Till the thick airbrush of gelid arboreal mysteries keep towering
Over the skies of some surplus woodcut by lumberjacks that can grow more papers
Papyrus manuscripts of minor league baseball games bring out the socialist shame
Shards of glass doors showing shark-like predatory pain
Moors and domes like murky hills of darkness hovering over the town
Calling the fireman, when he's not around
Disappearing with the snowy peaks, that there is reparation
Preparing folks for talk and meals
Follow me where I clear, the hollow men
Straw hats and everything
I flow down nothing lane, I'm not here
Insane, it isn't happening
Frescoes of paints of lamps on fearful sunset lanes
Flickering like little stars, brighter than the boreal forests
Fuliginous verdant ardent dreary forests, look like buildings
Concrete jungle, welcome me into the pain for the little town
Freewill and strobe lights, and hope speaks out
Fly and hope, hopeless love clears out those melting rains, like deserts thick as train smoke
Cerise rain doesn't stop in the Blitzkrieg belt, the promise of fortune climbs like hail