The Roof Of The World Is Left Open.

covered with silence then you try to listen a little more, the depth unseen is a fiery fire that boils with tender, lost alongside hope and that we never want to try it, forgetful minds that are powered by nuclear explosions. stood amongst the carnage when Tutankhamun turned Prince and upon his throne, he cried, trembling towers of stone that created the decline of a man called Abubakar, the price is paid in full only if you are prepared to ask, then upon an answer given, would you wait for it at the gates of Heaven? disengaged with this something named 'life' and with a purpose we use it I guess, mothering is involved by how it's nature is actually taken care of, a gripping sense of adaptation when we watched all those things we do fall apart. boxed away somewhere untidy when we were always there, crisps as they sound quite likely when questioned about it, turning heads and forgetful tails please read me a story instead, a test towards the land of hope and glory but where's the land of hope but not quite? jumping into a delight which favours the upper lip, of course, shamed down on them like the rain of monsoon on fire, and when a look down is hired is there that lay the edge of Hell,
disguised and a real human who takes the time out to try and live, although confusion bleed the steps to Heaven and our Earth, two towers collapsed when the world was put on pause that day. this battered dented and bruised planet will lose its traction for us, the time is now so please rearrange that the roof of the world is left open.