To burn the crash the clash of every mind

The finite metaphors in visual shows

To find a splash of color may refine

I’ve lost a soul now bleak and monochrome


The signs are never obvious or kind

I’ll mind my own I’m sure of others lows

and what of sin so glamorous to flow

I’ll come perhaps one day to pay the price


To earn my stasis though is surely fine

as fine as gold or diamonds though I’ve woes

and balance dances wildly through my time

and what will last of this the winds may blow


away to dust, destroyed and fallen down

in specs to form a fog among the ground