Words of the Constant
Skin to wear on my skin.
It may warm my body, but what of my spirit?
It looks even worse now.
I would have preferred the ears.
Separated from its only friend.
A small instrument of tiny destruction.
An axe won't kill it.
Pretty flower.
Should I eat the flower too?
Will I be dead before it ripens?
Perhaps I'm lucky and it's still poisoned.
Alone and rolling through life.
This is plainly false advertising.
No longer turning.
It's just ground.
Some ground.
Sand does not make good grave fill.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some road.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
It's just ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
It's just ground.
It's just ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
A gnarled and twisted surface.
Some ground.
It's just ground.
Some ground.
It's just ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.
Some ground.