Stand by an idea,
A world in ruin,
Dry, desolate, flaking scabs of civilization.
Concrete stories of east....west.
In troublesome view, carried to rest.
What was builds thick, a blanket to warm but veil from vision and carried by storm.
Wait says a voice but to what shall I wait,
Let go now these terrible traits.
A thousand books record, a history, an illusion of warn, blank and burnt, shadows not torn....
Tell me, why would I stay?
Labels and dreams, illusion at bay.....
Long gone astray.
I believed in a thing but only words.
Now a discussion of old men, death to the words.
Worries and worlds and words will unravel,
They sink beneath me, what is it that hopes you\'ll read me?