It was the middle of the day. The lonely train star whistles us a song in solid time with my nervous heart. as barren as my barren lands.
I thought that is what our agreement was. I thought that things had worked out fairly well.
You know that I can’t let my cup run dry. Because I am forbidden from public wells.
The musk of lost love thickened as day drew on. The work was hard, the tales were true. Those that were already there had not been removed. They still stood solid in their shoes.
I screamed out because the day has just started. The Healing Touch had arrived at once to replace my liver. The tall stone legs that hold up this town shivered in the wind. The edges of it’s story were roughed and ripped.
The virtuous cure was always more durable than any of the bitter cold columns to which we were accustomed to. And this could not endure for the period that we have allowed. Gracefully telling our butcher, we were ready to receive his gift.
Then, at short notice, we were brutally slaughtered by the barren fist.
We perished at the foot of the immortal, the shining golden hell.
As the life fell out of us, we were swept over by calm and we could let go.
Our bodies freeze together and drink the glorious shadow of blood lust.