Search Results: turning him down

The trees are torn up and ridged just like me, the hands of fate like to tear us all apart

We, the detail in its killing speee

To see the wartorn streets of fates by gates and driveways

strolling through the streets past cars speeding past me down to highways

to hell and back is the war with which we humans combat

tossing and turning in the night before our deepest

of deep sleep

turnover rates increasing in seconds flat

and the people are fat

when the dust settles and the fussed are layed to rest

the madrona watches and sheds like a skinks tail in our grasp

Its these torn hands I clasp

behind me on the stroll down the street

past whisping leaves

whispering to themselves the gossip of nature

that fails to keep our interest for long

going on for eternity as the only constant we’ll send off

assuredly

as the hands of fate hold and scold

the children of earth along.