when we are asleep, I dream at nigh width
an empty room so large, yet nothing filled with
the garden and jolly smile behind which
the empty room lurks beside the breeze of breath

the saddening of a clown when he finds his wife died
along with his child in hand who smiled like
fresh-picked daisies, with eyes that cried
towards the pass of his limited time, in the room

the room were perfectly aligned, a job well done for Sarah
The architect, slowly shes burnout off it, in a pit where
she bruises herself, and her bones each time she's not enough
when the room is done, we will find her dead with no blood

this equation is not holding still, the despair for mathematics
or detain of truth, something philosophy introduced with tricks
but when the funding is over or when you naturally give up
you might be a fool to hang yourself, just join the room
you might just be what we are looking for