Every thought is a fire
Fallen on a grass meadow
Even on eyes
Odd to the shades
When you are a green blood
It’s quite faint, foil and fume
Its was to be a mist, mourning myth
Everyman is followed
By the mutiny of shadows
Everyone is crumpling
By the mystery of epochs
This is a boiling logic
Boolean of nerves
Binary of ashes
Let it tether itself
