they are wayfarers, but they must not lead me to obsidian for i am a strong believer & faith is my court of justice (which succumbs to these overused constellations), abused by this summer filled hymn, warped in the melancholic ambitions of a deteriorating embrace; crackling with the figments of chapped burnt sienna paint, & i pray that my friends— (those poor wayfarers)—who cross over the path wherein the colors bring a drought in which they fall & drown, immersive in their prayers of materialistic means; let them see the light of this wrenching facade that alights itself with walking embers of growth; for they have yet to realize the extent of the grandeur of our judge.

and it is outrageous what fear can do to the thoughts & mindsets of people rendering them no growth in the eyes of those who find themselves at the apex of stratification (oh, you bourgeoisie), oozing an exodus of bliss yet unsatisfactory; for their hungry growls filled with switzerland green like their hands stained by the wrath of impurity, & if absolute faith is the result of this dynasty of fear & catastrophe, (a caged web which strings away from the foul fire of carnal mayhem), then lead me on till i have attained the highest level of piety like the crescent of the sun, & lead me on till i drip nothing but purity & wisdom, & lead me on till my thoughts are filled with what i would have in the hereafter as i simmer through the currents of destiny.