The ephemeral gates, festooned with luxurious outlines,
keeping all the ruckus and facas outside.

These, adorned with astonishing marvel and lollapalooza,
but the nesh man, always crowned like the testament of grandezza.

Beautified as a glass in furnace, polished as a scintilla after quenched,
yet the panoply of frost rooted inside never fades, it never ends.

What can aid the man, who is woozy but soft as snow and cold as ice?
smashed...