Where is the sky,
when I hear nothing but your chatter,
and these roads hellish.
When did the sky shed its tear,
where the occupants of their
shelter are contingent than comfort.
you are without your power.
Can we give it to you like that,
or have men were always
the one to be jealous of
their insanity than their own mortality.
© XenoGrapx, XENOphagz