Must the nurtured be blind eye Wilie McTell? Pain.
The mind racing, on A smile, Lonesome star in opaque Darkness, Freedom
From label. Freedom From responsibility. Freedom from action, Is this noble, Or a jester's play in chess?
Oh, must I turn my fist to face aloft, Straighten my clenched fingers, present you Burning embers of admiration, that for so long Have been stitched into my palm, Gifted from a passive voyager afar, Weary, to announce affection, For a grasp can only Last as long as Two hands want to clasp.