Like, a good ole Indian, I only tell no tale Keeping humming silence, disturbing Not a neighbor next to my tomb. Pain used to be a thing, no wonder how it turns to pleasing flames, temporary meals for other suckling kittles Maybe, a tumor some had to cut, properly to find, they are just another as they are. Don't bark that question again, Passerby hound! Home is just a bunch of shuffled syllables which they do come as they happen to go Leave no trace of here, and you may feel free as a casual in a virtual casualness, of mocking signs scattered all over the path As an overstuffed book of Semiotics.
Scale Fixing 