Could the store of beautiful concepts
run out of paper, for the writing
as our natures lead us down the trail;
can the smell of sage prairies save us?
Questions find layers, shifting over their top
boiled rice overflowing, putting out the hot
fading sensations reappear to the sound of your voice
as I remember that the decision is to not have a choice.
Play the chord, please two keys, pianist says what I mean
as a concert rolls on the background, an image emerges
foresight would do what you do but the oracles says, lean
against the edge of the world and trust that even is the verge.
Pain is the indication that a way is the path and the road
paved for the too-hot asphalt, fallacious freedom screams
be with the eagles and eat your rabbit meat while typing:code
a password will bring the bridge down while apart come(seams).
Roman Ryan 