The season to weep bears no fruit.
Boxcars blast by selecting the
frame-by-frame of a dreary horizon.
Fallow Fertility- what was bred is bad.
Better believe you hold your hands
too close to the Fire.
Barriers, fences, all to
alleviate your eyes of recognition of
Fault and Fear of Forever.
Release the wrong which lives a life of luxury-
Lingering in lies, lost in an intricately interlaced
architecture of your own construction.