and see strange creatures move from tree to tree. We are only chaos tracing a line from cradle to grave and finding what we need.
there is me and all the strangeness and desperations that rest upon my shoulders.
And these are such worrying and unfortunate times that fellows will call out as if to
warn me and yet I continue to look upon them with scorn because these fellows have
no such place at my side.
And yet I carry windows that faces can look into, in hope that friendship shall occur.
I am cloaked in distance and haunted by mortality and clockwork chickens.
murmers. Moss covered cobbled stones direct me to a sign hung heavy with
irony and woodworm,
'Come Directionless and muddled, Come And Savour The Sights Unknown'
A moments pause could mean a lifetime, so after 5 I stumble on.