Words help but fade Of mud stuck in the shoe Scraping it off right away.
We all can dip in the sea Of reality and sink and see That some are frowning with money All around them and others eat bread and water Without giving up.
Little girls die in woods and the molester gets hanged
All little things happening Right now behind you in a Sphere of water and dirt.
Your green grass shines. Others grass burns slowly, Dries and dies slowly.
When will I reach fifty? This world seems already dead. What world looks away from help something is wrong with Some people. Something is wrong with me Some days.