As I believes comes in
the deathly bark of the times
dark between salve on the stripes
the shapeless material
Mirrors in my cranium inward loudly puts
breath on me
Sense hangs
God is geflohen
has knits soul
You have lost the straight beams
no benefits crave
is suitable becomes you spears out
Friends are silent
I lean answers as of
Roughly mountain
a high horn covers
and to their consecration
Has hears into the daylight
Breeze to nerves
has gone the concerns of the evening-man
Immediately dream of the other by
You stood has thawed
sadly, that I hike,
far of the froth
all the world is
I am of rips full
The horns of grows
Trample the bead-pie bald
no if I blush
no tears wipe