Oblivion owned to live he had never seen his coffin and what was made from there he had never tasted his tears
Can we trespass now
Never dream again cause this world became the dreams surely he would wonder about his steps would always remember the past
What past
Times
He would strive on and on collecting his peace entangled in crayons the most valuable of all
Out of the dismal mist covering the crown he stands like a sculpture in a flowered garden black and enameled roses
Can this forsakened deem lay its hand on the final grasp
