Tomb of council in the march of waits
Castle in the tourist populate
Nothing’s here to mitigate
Told you once
Go unto the night
Then you hide
Granting syllables in the sky
Scrimmaging inside the mark of parts
Thinking as the waiter counts the scars
Stooping down to be aligned
Fighting wars
To be all brand new
Standing there till you cannot choose how to lose

Limerence like a band of thieves
Thorn of whistle cutters like an ambulance
Sing to mark the eye where the ribbon can sigh and cry