Surviving the night,
the new blossom has no choice...
After the night,
and after the sight...
Our childhood fades, its dream undone,
and wonder hides from everyone...
The unknown is always
guarded by senseless meaning...
They ascend to judgment
on stilts of sycophancy...
Butterflies, butterflies
here and there...
(for Ben Picard)
We no longer learn from one another...
Still she waits.
Still she burns...
No one comes to see my garden,
to sit...
O, a head,
the spark...
I made it to the end of the tunnel, and there was...
There was just me and a recurring dream of losing...
None may speak above right
For Right is the ultimate of mankind...