4

On the snow was a sickness and I found it glaring as did many before with the urged wary of a century
of core hard at peering

There is a place laid out and I have no opinion nor do I spare what the answers consist of caring we
ironic to the touch still

Moving forward cautiously regretting each word as it forms itself ugly and angry for what was once
desired pure and swam

Once the following articulation held an honor for the concentrating addiction found glory within hope
felt hand grenades fire