My soul is weakened at the hand
To be such a one who sleeps
In the morning and night
And midday to which one will have
Anything to be such a winter gun
Such a winter gun
Inside myself inside your own
Hands and thighs and pinky fingers
Little toes on the ground
That will make something a sound
I cannot find the words
To explain some absurd
Gallery on the table
With the magic light of spark
Sparking up to the hills
Cannot be something real
In the ocean, cannot bear
What will see, diamond be
To be careful in the mare
Underwear

Such a boring winter light
Magic markers at the sight
Counting wrens inside the tomb
Mystic magic, *******
Inside my hearer sides,
Inside the willing lies
Toes inside the marching band
Dinosaurs of the little land
Feet with socks of purple pots
Changing numbers like they’re rocks
Sweater on the baking tide
Whizzing laughter fill inside
Drooping eyes of wisdom words
Cannot calculate the buzzing turds
Swooping in and out like a bee inside the masking man
Marching till it’s out of hand
Cannot conjure anything at all
Can you fall
Until the doll
Reaps inside the penny lane
The naked heart inside the side
The cave below
The ground that’s sowed
Sewed inside
The human eye
Everything inside
Something inside
The man won’t go away
The humans are here to stay
The baby parasite
The adult living life
What’s the difference