I have become lion gate, unignited fume, life inside of me becomes a magic broom of thought and disease and unwanted pleasures that are anyhow forgotten. I no longer know them, or there, or anywhere, truth be, truth is, truth wants down a second slips away.

Oh you thought that I spoke truth or that I was unafraid and sure. That is not true. I have no answer or any design ready for that kind of pitched insanity, oh burning orb and mirror set to shine, full is only what was left behind.

It so happens that I am no longer eager, that I have left the page, and gone again into
a third frame. One, two, three, thrown up into a mystery. But is it? No, of course not, and words just flow from mouth to mind, from mind to heart, and we hear, or do we simply dissappear?

Country, I have never known you, you who blame and disgust. This nation is only a huddle of peasents that believe in a far-fetched individuality. This is truth, this is wisdom. It can't go on anylonger, my shame, my loss, my my my.

It would be better if I am quiet now. I do not know, I.


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