Hung tree home to rustic sandy wheel,

Spokes have turned to roots squashing the leaves blooming underground,

Waves run a bath for the cave

Plug sealed with an unpryable wrath, 

We craft, the Brutus soaked oak,

We rise, like a balloon in an unsteady hand

Lost like the last dead leaf boated down the river,

Shiver and quiver goes the snow, as we blow, the rain with ice,

All we want is the Sun to accept its term,

Learn to stare with respect

Learn to love who holds our chair as we scream for their death protruding our fall,

We saw them shake like the heated plain

We saw them kneal to heal,

To heal the betrayal from the ungrateful bill they wove,

How could we walk through roads of pussed cement,

How could we not thank the sky we suck

The mistress Sun we burden awake to,

You and I shall not fly when they burn the ground rebelled to us