today starts off a beautiful crochet of the hearts extint. the morning awakes and all of the snakes are snuggled up with the mice.

perfection is nice, but there's alwyas a price for peace in between more than two.

the squirrels arrivve speckled with fright of a figure bigger than you.

the thunderous sound of a thud to the ground and all of the peace says bye.

the ax mean heaves, the songbirds leave; ahead of each other to thrive.

you prtect yourself, no one to help with the children all ready to die.

when you are clear the feeling is near and it all begins to set in.

with trembling hands you still understand you have to be the fist to set down.

the forest is clear, the ax man is near, you are now the songbirds tree.

the weight in your hands is too much to stand, but they still pile up by the threes.

the limbs all break, now nothing's at stake, no need for the ax man here.

he leaves with the breeze, there are no trees; we can't help but go extinct.

the bellowing cries begin to arise as the evening drifts away to sleep.

we slumber in the muddy heap that was left behind not reaped. but we remember todya began a beautiful crochet of the hearts extint.