….and the rantings then changed
from white to weather and pouring rains
like moonlight which starts fading away
to give rise to another sway

…if love was as easy as them somehow
we wouldn’t know of when and now
and story nights apart from hers
we watch in gleam of wanderers

…from magic streams of growing horns
and sways of glitter and shoddy halls
in strength and ponder, in light and yonder
she crept onto the grey woolen crowd

…like slippery doors that don’t give way
in aftermaths and older ashtrays
like everything just seems alright
it is just then that brightness bites

…we hear the calling without a muse
and then the simple sound comes loose
Of creeping walls and greener snow
they come to take us to afterglow.