Resting on fertile ground
Why are we so afraid to shake our own terra firma
When all hope resides in crime
And precious little allows cracks to form

Because all we do is mend that which makes itself open

Raw form



The existence of the soul

And all that is in between hearts that swallow purpose

For belief in life is a spiteful twat

A hateful little bitch

Broken, bounded, sacred, scarred

And resistance is futile