When put to words They do not feel the same. When said out loud, Come across as burned out flames- They seem as somewhat distorted, Not what You see inside, Rather concealed and tamed, The intensity not quite portrayed, On the equivalent high tide.
Age, a concept, we're doomed to portray, to judge our virtues, which year is best, We'll hang it and proclaim each doorway, and **** it to hell, when the soul has to rest.
