Night.
March lets a rain to drip I'm hungry can not sleep
Old bones are garish And
In mind I recollect Past, which can not correct
With hope to perish Yea,
Narcissus blooms inside. Your glaze politely hide, For we are
many, Who won't worth penny And
My ascorbic laugh Is only featured stuff, Which barely
discern From those who are long gone. All in a being must
be quite quiet All in a being must be quite quiet
