night of truth, rainy september the twenty-third
truth of our movements spread out like wings of a bird
listening so closely from the noise heard so near
making sure each vowel was inhaled, loud and clear
to touch on this subject of struggles and previous
was all at once taken over by the success and the devious
two souls alike, seperated until rain
cast upon windy roads, spoken too little in vain
for the world does not exist without the five senses
the idea of this woman, cross imprinted on his hands as he clenches