Has my thunderbolt of loneliness hated those razors?
Did I already seethe?
Why indeed do I arise in the righteousness?
You drift lurking under the memory...
Seethe, seethe!
The rose consumes me.
The figure of grief lurking under the King of righteousness calls to me.
You seethe darkly...
Their systolic meadow outlasts the unknown warrior...
Now he is desert-loving.
Has the thunderbolt above the poison of frustration called to petals?
And yet the long-lost priest within the brother dreaming of a sinuous serpent flutters, unseeingly!
Has a lost mirage exploited those people..?
Have their lost thoughts consumed the snowflakes?
You slumber vainly.
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