My stained broken glass, chains of gold, plain brass is cast, through the past where I masked trash that's mass, the images are vast, peep my stash, cash grew fast, I grasped kilos, in this predicament, my sentiment was brash steelo, and though my wishing was assistance they had cashed zeros, you call me hero, wouldn't see so in my task, breathe slow!, cause in my diesel, you would see your enemy, pillow, there to smother you and thunder shoot your glass window, so better come to sense and never tense your last willow, cause it will better suit in helping you to have a still flow.