i eat the food of the soft and hard work no time is left for a god to appear cross the river and find a path that works a life of effort all live with the true
of not excisting in the mind of self and what we call god is a bandaid that is better than nothing as we bleed life out of love upon a table raza
which is true yet maleable so now we walk and talk the walking head maybe not a word is true that's not thought softly in a moment of yells and we follow
as to the inner true unheard that can be peaceful if we try i do not know what