Слова:
Folly Resist Convenience

Excellency, by the time you read this I'll be gone. Long gone. Gone long. No longer adorned in robes, nor the finest of armor. Wayward grows a light

Breathe me in like air, innocent. My fingers bleed. I've been writing too much. Preventing these words from searing my battered throat. And I can't even

Woe? Blame it on the rain. Whoa! Blame it on the name game. Size-up, suit up self-esteem. Tie-down, dress-down fight in the dog-days. Wolf nights? Introspection

This place, more orange nowadays. The ashen badlands redeem. Your face, through magnified glass, still draws me in. Those big eyes draw me in. Distrophy

Hand-fed triumph, spoils. Battles which you cant recall fighting in. This fancies your fit. You've settled down for a long winter's nap; Simply grown

In hind sight for sore eyes on the prize fighter. Pilot, gunner, navigator, the sky. The mountains luke-warm, metaphorically speaking. Speaking of metaphors