The time runs speedily,
The time swings closer,
Dresses in golden attire,
The hour calls for Messiah,
Grey pens tire wrappers,
Appears in scaring attires,
Like herbalist of one eyes,
In sweat to comb for new Messiah,
The neonate pens google high,
Expectations dance round the wall,
Combing for ways to run away,
Which way to bite off this bedbugs?
When would eyes read through the letters?
When would hands that craft the crown voice for the throne?
With their strong pen to fight,
To bring to light grin-light,
When would all grey pens tongue to build up this wall?
Is it when callow trousers and skirts stand a black wall?
Sketching a map of red war,...